i 


CAP'N  DAN'S  DAUGHTER 


OS.  CALIF-  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


CAP'N  DAN'S 
DAUGHTER 


By  JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 


Author  of  "Mr.  Pratt's  Patients,"  "The  Rise  of  Roscoe 
Paine,"  "Cap'n  Warren's  Wards,"  etc. 


A.  L  BURT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

114-120  East  Twenty-third  Street     -       -       New  York 

PUBLISHED  BY  ARRANGEMENT  WITH  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1914,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CAP'N  DAN'S  DAUGHTER 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  Metropolitan  Dry  Goods  and  Variety 
Store  at  Trumet  Centre  was  open  for  busi 
ness.  Sam  Bartlett,  the  boy  whose  duty  it 
was  to  take  down  the  shutters,  sweep  out,  dust,  and 
wait  upon  early-bird  customers,  had  performed  the 
first  three  of  these  tasks  and  gone  home  for  break 
fast.  The  reason  he  had  not  performed  the  fourth 
— the  waiting  upon  customers — was  simple  enough; 
there  had  been  no  customers  to  wait  upon.  The 
Metropolitan  Dry  Goods  and  Variety  Store  was 
open  and  ready  for  business — but,  unfortunately, 
there  was  no  business. 

There  should  have  been.  This  was  August,  the 
season  of  the  year  when,  if  ever,  Trumet  shop 
keepers  should  be  beaming  across  their  counters  at 
the  city  visitor,  male  or  female,  and  telling  him  or 
her,  that  "white  duck  hats  are  all  the  go  this  sum 
mer,"  or  "there's  nothin'  better  than  an  oilskin  coat 
for  sailin'  cruises  or  picnics."  Outing  shirts  and 
yachting  caps,  fancy  stationery,  post  cards,  and 
chocolates  should  be  changing  hands  at  a  great  rate 
and  the  showcase,  containing  the  nicked  blue  plates 
and  cracked  teapots,  the  battered  candlesticks  and 

I 


2131137 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

tarnished  pewters,  "genuine  antiques,"  should  be 
opened  at  frequent  intervals  for  the  inspection  of 
bargain-seeking  mothers  and  their  daughters.  July 
and  August  are  the  Cape  Cod  harvest  months;  if 
the  single-entry  ledgers  of  Trumet's  business  men 
do  not  show  good-sized  profits  during  that  season 
they  are  not  likely  to  do  so  the  rest  of  the  year. 

Captain  Daniel  Dott,  proprietor  of  the  Metro 
politan  Store,  bending  over  his  own  ledger  spread 
on  the  little  desk  by  the  window  at  the  rear  of  his 
establishment,  was  realizing  this  fact,  realizing  it 
with  a  sinking  heart  and  a  sens :  of  hopeless  dis 
couragement.  The  summer  was  almost  over;  Sep 
tember  was  only  three  days  off;  in  another  fort 
night  the  hotels  would  be  closed,  the  boarding 
houses  would  be  closing,  and  Trumet,  deserted  by 
its  money  spending  visitors,  would  be  falling  asleep, 
relapsing  into  its  autumn  and  winter  hibernation. 
And  the  Dott  ledger,  instead  of  showing  a  profit  of 
a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  as  it  had  the 
first  summer  after  Daniel  bought  the  business, 
showed  but  a  meager  three  hundred  and  fifty,  over 
and  above  expenses. 

Through  the  window  the  sun  was  shining  brightly. 
From  the  road  in  front  of  the  store — Trumet's 
"Main  Street" — came  the  rattle  of  wheels  and  the 
sound  of  laughter  and  conversation  in  youthful 
voices.  The  sounds  drew  nearer.  Someone  shouted 
"Whoa!"  Daniel  Dott,  a  ray  of  hope  illuminating 
his  soul  at  the  prospect  of  a  customer,  rose  hur 
riedly  from  his  seat  by  the  desk  and  hastened  out 
into  the  shop. 

A  big  two-horsed  vehicle,  the  "barge"  from  the 

2 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

Manonquit  House,  had  stopped  before  the  door.  It 
was  filled  with  a  gay  crowd,  youths  and  maidens 
from  the  hotel,  dressed  in  spotless  flannels  and 
"blazers,"  all  talking  at  once,  and  evidently  care 
free  and  happy.  Two  of  the  masculine  members 
of  the  party  descended  from  the  "barge"  and  en 
tered  the  store.  Daniel,  smiling  his  sweetest,  stepped 
forward  to  meet  them. 

"Good  mornin',  good  mornin',"  he  said.  "A  fine 
mornin',  ain't  it?" 

The  greeting  was  acknowledged  by  both  of  the 
young  fellows,  and  one  of  them  added  that  it  was 
a  fine  morning,  indeed. 

"Don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  a  finer,"  observed 
Daniel.  "Off  on  a  cruise  somewhere,  I  presume 
likely;  hey?" 

"Picnic  down  at  the  Point." 

"Well,  you've  got  picnic  weather,  all  right.  Yes 
sir,  you  have!" 

Comment  concerning  the  weather  is  the  inevitable 
preliminary  to  all  commercial  transactions  in 
Trumet.  Now,  preliminaries  being  over,  Daniel 
waited  hopefully  for  what  was  to  follow.  His 
hopes  were  dashed. 

"Is — is  Miss  Dott  about?"  inquired  one  of  the 
callers. 

"Miss  Dott?  Oh,  Gertie!  No,  she  ain't.  She's 
gone  down  street  somewheres.  Be  back  pretty  soon, 
I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"Humph!  Well,  I'm  afraid  we  can't  wait.  We 
hoped  she  might  go  with  us  on  the  picnic.  We — er 
- — we  wanted  her  very  much." 

"That  so?    I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  afraid  she  couldn't 

3 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

go,  even  if  she  was  here.  You  see,  it's  her  last  day 
at  home,  and — we — her  mother  and  I — that  is,  I 
don't  believe  she'd  want  to  leave  us  to-day." 

"No;  no,  of  course  not.  Well,  tell  her  we  wish 
she  might  have  come,  but  we  understand.  Yes, 
yes,"  in  answer  to  the  calls  from  the  "barge,"  "we're 
coming.  Well,  good  by,  Captain  Dott." 

"Er — good  by.  Er — er — don't  want  anything  to 
take  along,  do  you?  A  nice  box  of  candy,  or — or 
anything?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  We  stopped  at  the  Emporium 
just  now,  and  loaded  up  with  candy  enough  to  last 
a  week.  Good  morning." 

"How  are  you  fixed  for  sun  hats  and  things?  I've 
got  a  nice  line  of  hats  and — well,  good  by." 

"Good  by." 

The  "barge"  moved  off.  Daniel,  standing  de 
jectedly  in  the  door,  remembered  his  manners. 

"Hope  you  have  a  nice  time,"  he  shouted.  Then 
he  turned  and  moved  disconsolately  back  to  the  desk. 

He  might  have  expected  it.  It  was  thus  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten.  The  Emporium,  Mr.  J.  Cohen, 
proprietor,  was  his  undoing  in  this  instance  as  in 
so  many  others.  The  Emporium  got  the  trade  and 
he  got  the  good  bys.  Mr.  Cohen  was  not  an  old 
resident,  as  he  was;  Mr.  Cohen's  daughter  was  not 
invited  to  picnics  by  the  summer  people;  Mrs. 
Cohen  was  not  head  of  the  sewing  circle  and  the 
Chapter  of  the  Ladies  of  Honor,  and  prominent  so 
cially,  as  was  Mrs.  Dott;  but  Mr.  Cohen  bought 
cheap  and  sold  cheap,  and  the  Emporium  flourished 
like  a  green  bay  tree,  while  the  Metropolitan  Store 
was  rapidly  going  to  seed.  Daniel,  looking  out 

4 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

through  the  front  window  at  the  blue  sea  in  the  dis 
tance,  thought  of  the  past,  of  the  days  when,  as  com 
mander  and  part  owner  of  the  three  masted  schooner 
Bluebird,  he  had  been  free  and  prosperous  and 
happy.  Then  he  considered  the  future,  which  was 
bluer  than  the  sea,  and  sighed  again.  Why  had  he 
not  been  content  to  stick  to  the  profession  he  under 
stood,  to  remain  on  the  salt  water  he  loved;  instead 
of  retiring  from  the  sea  to  live  on  dry  land  and 
squander  his  small  fortune  in  a  business  for  which 
he  was  entirely  unfitted? 

And  yet  the  answer  was  simple  enough.  Mrs. 
Dott — Mrs.  Serena  Dott,  his  wife — was  the  answer, 
she  and  her  social  aspirations.  It  was  Serena  who 
had  coaxed  him  into  giving  up  seafaring;  who  h?d 
said  that  it  was  a  shame  for  him  to  waste  his  life 
ordering  foremast  hands  about  when  he  might  be 
one  of  the  leading  citizens  in  his  native  town.  It 
was  Serena  who  had  persuaded  him  to  invest  the 
larger  part  of  his  savings  in  the  Metropolitan 
Store.  Serena,  who  had  insisted  that  Gertrude, 
their  daughter  and  only  child,  should  leave  home  to 
attend  the  fashionable  and  expensive  seminary  near 
Boston.  Serena  who — but  there!  it  was  all  Serena; 
and  had  been  ever  since  they  were  married.  Cap 
tain  Daniel,  on  board  his  schooner,  was  a  man  whose 
word  was  law.  On  shore,  he  was  law  abiding,  and 
his  words  were  few. 

The  side  door  of  the  store — that  leading  to  the 
yard  separating  it  from  the  Dott  homestead — 
opened,  and  Azuba  Ginn  appeared.  Azuba  had 
been  the  Dott  maid  of  all  work  for  eighteen  years, 
ever  since  Gertrude  was  a  baby.  She  was  married, 

5 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

but  her  husband,  Laban  Ginn,  was  mate  on  a  steam 
freighter  running  between  New  York  and  almost 
anywhere,  and  his  shore  leaves  were  short  and  in 
frequent.  Theirs  was  a  curious  sort  of  married 
life.  "We  is  kind  of  independent,  Labe  and  me," 
said  Azuba.  uHe  often  says  to  me — that  is,  as 
often  as  we're  together,  which  ain't  often — he  says 
to  me,  he  says,  'Live  where  you  want  to,  Zuby,'  he 
says,  'and  if  you  want  to  move,  move!  When  I 
get  ashore  I  can  hunt  you  up.'  We  don't  write 
many  letters  because  time  each  get  t'other's,  the 
news  is  so  plaguey  old  'tain't  news  at  all.  You 
Dotts  seem  more  like  home  folks  to  me  than  any 
body  else,  so  I  stick  to  you.  I  presume  likely  I  shall 
till  I  die." 

Azuba  entered  the  store  in  the  way  in  which  she 
did  most  things,  with  a  flurry  and  a  slam.  Her 
sleeves  were  rolled  up,  she  wore  an  apron,  and  one 
hand  dripped  suds,  demonstrating  that  it  had  just 
been  taken  from  the  dishpan.  In  the  other,  wiped 
more  or  less  dry  on  the  apron,  she  held  a  crumpled 
envelope. 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "If  some  hu 
man  bein's  don't  beat  the  Dutch  then  7  don't  know, 
that's  all.  If  the  way  some  folks  go  slip-slop,  hit 
or  miss,  through  this  world  ain't  a  caution  then — 
Tut!  tut!  tut!  don't  talk  to  me!" 

Captain  Dan  looked  up  from  the  ledger. 

"What?"  he  asked  absently. 

"I  say,  don't  talk  to  me!" 

"We — 11,"  with  deliberation,  "I  guess  I  shan't, 
unless  you  stop  talkin'  yourself,  and  give  me  a 
chance.  What's  the  matter  now,  Zuba?" 

6 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Matter  I  Don't  talk  to  me!  Carelessness  is 
the  matter!  Slip-sloppiness  is  the  matter!  Here's 
a  man  that  calls  himself  a  man  and  goes  mopin' 
around  pretendin'  to  be  a  man,  and  what  does  he 
do?" 

"I  don't  know.  I'd  tell  you  better,  maybe,  if  I 
knew  who  he  was." 

"Who  he  was !  I'll  tell  you  who  he  was — is,  I 
mean.  He's  Balaam  Hambleton,  that's  who  he  is." 

"Humph!  Bale  Hamilton,  hey?  Then  it's  easy 
enough  to  say  what  he  does — nothin',  most  of  the 
time.  Is  that  letter  for  me?" 

"Course  it's  for  you !  And  it's  a  week  old,  what's 
more.  One  week  ago  that  letter  come  in  the  mail 
and  the  postmaster  let  that — that  Hambleton  thing 
take  it,  'cause  he  said  he  was  goin'  right  by  here  and 
could  leave  it  just  as  well  as  not.  And  this  very 
mornin'  that  freckle-faced  boy  of  his — that  George 
Washin'ton  one — what  folks  give  such  names  to 
their  young  ones  for  /  can't  see ! — he  rung  the  front 
door  bell  and  yanked  me  right  out  of  the  dish  water, 
and  he  says  his  ma  found  the  letter  in  Balaam's 
other  pants  when  she  was  mendin'  'em,  and  would 
I  please  excuse  his  forgettin'  it  'cause  he  had  so 
much  on  his  mind  lately.  Mind!  Land  of  love! 
if  he  had  a  thistle  top  on  his  mind  'twould  smash  it 
flat.  Don't  talk  to  me!" 

"I  won't,"  drily;  "I  won't,  Zuba,  I  swear  it.  Let's 
see  the  letter." 

He  bent  forward  and  took  the  letter  from  her 
hand.  Then,  adjusting  his  spectacles,  he  examined 
the  envelope.  It  was  of  the  ordinary  business  size 
and  was  stamped  with  the  Boston  postmark,  and  a 

7 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

date  a  week  old.  Captain  Dan  looked  at  the  post 
mark,  studied  the  address,  which  was  in  an  unfa 
miliar  handwriting,  and  then  turned  the  envelope 
over.  On  the  flap  was  printed  "Shepley  and  Far- 
well,  Attorneys,  Devonshire  Street."  The 

captain  drew  a  long  breath;  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  sat  staring  at  the  envelope. 

Azuba  wiped  the  suds  from  her  wet  hand  and 
arm  upon  her  apron.  Then  she  wrapped  it  and 
the  other  arm  in  said  apron  and  coughed.  The 
cough  was  intended  to  arouse  her  employer  from 
the  trance  Into  which  he  had,  apparently,  fallen. 
But  it  was  without  effect.  Captain  Daniel  did  stop 
staring  at  the  envelope,  but  he  merely  transferred 
his  gaze  to  the  ink-spattered  blotter  and  the  ledger 
upon  it,  and  stared  at  them. 

"Well?"  observed  Azuba. 

The  captain  started.  "Hey?"  he  exclaimed,  look 
ing  up.  "Did  you  speak?" 

"I  said  'Well?'.   I  suppose  that's  speakin'?" 

"'Well?'    Well  what?" 

"Oh,  nothin'  I    I  was  just  wonderin' " 

"Wonderin'  what?" 

"I  was  wonderin'  if  that  letter  was  anything  im 
portant.  Ain't  you  goin'  to  open  it  and  see?" 

"Hey?  Open  it?  Oh,  yes,  yes.  Well,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  opened  it  some  time  or  other,  Zuba.  I 
gen'rally  open  my  letters.  It's  a  funny  habit  I 
have." 

"Humph!  Well,  all  right,  then.  I  didn't  know. 
Course,  'tain't  none  of  my  business  what's  in  other 
folks's  letters.  /  ain't  nosey,  land  knows.  Nobody 

can  accuse  me  of " 

8 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Nobody  can  accuse  you  of  anything,  Zuba.  Not 
even  dish  washin'  just  now." 

Azuba  drew  herself  up.  Outraged  dignity  and 
injured  pride  were  expressed  in  every  line  of  her 
figure.  "Well!"  she  exclaimed;  "well!  if  that  ain't 
— if  that  don't  beat  all  that  ever  /  heard!  Here  I 
leave  my  work  to  do  folks  favors,  to  fetch  and  carry 
for  'em,  and  this  is  what  I  get.  Cap'n  Dott,  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  ain't  dependent  on  nobody 
for  a  job.  I  don't  'have  to  slave  myself  to  death  for 
nobody.  If  you  ain't  satisfied " 

"There,  there,  Zuba !  I  was  only  jokin'.  Don't 
get  mad!" 

"Mad!  Who's  mad,  I'd  like  to  know?  It  takes 
more'n  that  to  make  me  mad,  I'd  have  you  under 
stand." 

"That's  good;  I'm  glad  of  it.  Well,  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  bringin'  the  letter." 

"You're  welcome.  Land  sakes!  I  don't  mind 
doin'  errands,  only  I  like  to  have  'em  appreciated. 
And  I  like  jokes  well  as  anybody,  but  when  you  tell 
me " 

"Hold  on!  don't  get  het  up  again.  Keep  cool, 
Zuba,  keep  cool!  Think  of  that  dish  water;  it's 
gettin'  cooler  every  minute." 

The  answer  to  this  was  an  indignant  snort  fol 
lowed  by  the  bang  of  the  door.  Azuba  had  gone. 
Captain  Daniel  looked  after  her,  smiled  faintly, 
shook  his. head,  and  again  turned  his  attention  to 
the  letter  in  his  hand.  He  did  not  open  it  immedi 
ately.  Instead  he  sat  regarding  it  with  the  same 
haggard,  hopeless  expression  which  he  had  worn 
when  he  first  read  the  firm's  name  upon  the  en- 

9 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

velope.  He  dreaded,  perhaps,  as  much  as  he  had 
ever  dreaded  anything  in  his  life,  to  open  that  en 
velope. 

He  was  sure,  perfectly  sure,  what  he  should  find 
when  he  did  open  it.  A  letter  from  the  legal  repre 
sentatives  of  Smith  and  Denton,  the  Boston  hat 
manufacturers  and  dealers,  stating  that,  unless  the 
latter's  account  was  paid  within  the  next  week,  suit 
for  the  amount  due  would  be  instituted  in  the  courts. 
A  law  suit!  a  law  suit  for  the  collection  of  a  debt 
against  him,  Daniel  Dott,  the  man  who  had  prided 
himself  upon  his  honesty  I  Think  of  what  it  would 
mean!  the  disgrace  of  it!  the  humiliation,  not  only 
for  himself  but  for  Serena,  his  wife,  and  Gertrude, 
his  daughter! 

He  did  not  blame  Smith  and  Denton;  they  had 
been  very  kind,  very  lenient  indeed.  The  thirty- 
day  credit  originally  given  him  had  been  extended 
to  sixty  and  ninety.  They  had  written  him  many 
times,  and  each  time  he  had  written  in  reply  that 
as  soon  as  collections  were  better  he  should  be  able 
to  pay  in  full;  that  he  had  a  good  deal  of  money 
owed  him,  and  as  soon  as  it  came  in  they  should 
have  it.  But  it  did  not  come  in.  No  wonder,  con 
sidering  that  it  was  owed  by  the  loafers  and  ne'er- 
do-wells  of  the  town  and  surrounding  country,  who, 
because  no  one  else  would  trust  them,  bestowed  their 
custom  upon  good-natured,  gullible  Captain  Dan. 
The  more  recent  letters  from  the  hat  dealers  had 
been  sharper  and  less  kindly.  They  had  ceased  to 
request;  they  demanded.  At  last  they  had  tnreat- 
ened.  And  now  the  threat  was  to  be  fulfilled. 

The  captain  laid  the  envelope  down  upon  the 

10 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

open  ledger,  rose,  and,  going  to  the  front  of  the 
store,  carefully  closed  the  door.  Then,  going  to 
the  door  communicating  with  the  other  half  of  the 
store,  he  made  sure  that  no  one  was  in  the  adjoining 
room.  He  had  a  vague  feeling  that  all  the  eyes  in 
Trumet  were  regarding  him  with  suspicion,  and  he 
wished  to  shut  out  their  accusing  gaze.  He  wanted 
to  be  alone  when  he  read  that  letter.  He  had  half 
a  mind  to  take  it  to  the  cellar  and  open  it  there. 

His  fingers  shook  as  he  tore  the  end  from  the 
envelope.  They  shook  still  more  as  he  drew  forth 
the  enclosure,  a  typewritten  sheet,  and  held  it  to 
the  light.  He  read  it  through  to  the  end.  Then, 
with  a  loud  exclamation,  almost  a  shout,  he  rushed 
to  the  side  door,  flung  it  open  and  darted  across 
the  yard,  the  letter  fluttering  from  his  fingers  like 
a  flag.  The  store  was  left  unguarded,  but  he  forgot 
that. 

He  stumbled  up  the  steps  into  the  kitchen.  Azuba, 
a  saucer  in  one  hand  and  the  dish  towel  in  the  other, 
was,  to  say  the  least,  startled.  As  she  expressed  it 
afterward,  "the  everlastin'  soul  was  pretty  nigh 
scart  out  of  her."  The  saucer  flew  through  the  air 
and  lit  upon  the  top  of  the  cookstove. 

"What — what — what ''     stammered  Azuba. 

"Oh,  my  land!    What  is  it?" 

"Where's  Serena?"  demanded  Captain  Daniel, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  saucer,  except  to  tread 
upon  the  fragments. 

"Hey?    Oh,  what  is  it?    Is  the  store  afire?" 

"No,  no!    Where's  Serena?" 

"She— she— what " 

"Where's  Serena,  I  ask  you?" 

n 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"In  her  room,  I  cal'late.  For  mercy  sakes, 
what " 

But  the  captain  did  not  answer.  Through  dining- 
room,  sitting-room,  and  parlor  he  galloped,  and 
up  the  front  stairs  to  the  bedroom  occupied  by  him 
self  and  wife.  Mrs.  Dott  was  standing  before  the 
mirror,  red-faced  and  panting,  both  arms  behind 
her  and  her  fingers  busily  engaged.  Her  husband's 
breath  was  almost  gone  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
foot  of  the  stairs;  consequently  his  entrance  was  a 
trifle  less  noisy  and  startling  than  his  sky-rocket 
flight  through  the  kitchen.  It  is  doubtful  if  his  wife 
would  have  noticed  even  if  it  had  been.  She  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him  in  the  mirror,  and  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it!"  she  panted.  "My,  I'm  glad! 
For  mercy  sakes  fasten  those  last  three  hooks;  I'm 
almost  distracted  with  'em." 

But  the  hooks  remained  unfastened  for  the  time., 
Captain  Dan  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  waved 
the  letter. 

"Serena,"  he  cried,  puffing  like  a  stranded  por 
poise,  "what — what  do  you  suppose  has  happened? 
Aunt  Laviny  is  dead." 

Serena  turned.  "Dead!"  she  repeated.  "Your 
Aunt  Lavinia  Dott?  The  rich  one?" 

"Yes,  sir;  she's  gone.  Died  in  Italy  a  fortnight 
ago.  Naples,  I  think  'twas — or  some  such  outland 
ish  place;  you  know  she's  done  nothin'  but  cruise 
around  Europe  ever  since  Uncle  Jim  died.  The 
letter  says  she  was  taken  sick  on  a  Friday,  and  died 
Sunday,  so  'twas  pretty  sudden.  I " 

But  Mrs.  Dott  interrupted.     "What  else  does  it 

12 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

say?"  she  asked  excitedly.  "What  else  does  that 
letter  say?  Who  is  it  from?" 

"It's  from  her  lawyers  up  to  Boston.  What 
made  you  think  it  said  anything  else?" 

"Because  I'm  not  blind  and  I  can  see  your  face, 
Daniel  Dott.  What  else  does  it  say?  Tell  me  I 
Has  she — did  she ?" 

Captain  Dan  nodded  solemnly.  "She  didn't  for 
get  us,"  he  said.  "She  didn't  forget  us,  Serena. 
The  letter  says  her  will  gives  us  that  solid  silver  tea 
pot  and  sugar-bowl  that  was  presented  to  Uncle 
Jim  by  the  Ship  Chandlers'  Society,  when  he  was 
president  of  it.  She  willed  that  to  us.  She  knew  I 
always  admired  that  tea-pot  and " 

His  wife  interrupted  once  more. 

"Tea-pot!"  she  repeated  strongly.  "Tea-pot  1 
What  are  you  talking  about?  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  all  she  left  us  was  a  tea-pot?  If  you  do  I " 

"No,  no,  Serena.  Hush!  She's  left  us  three 
thousand  dollars  besides.  Think  of  it  I  Three  thou 
sand  dollars — just  now!" 

His  voice  shook  as  he  said  it.  He  spoke  as  if 
three  thousand  dollars  was  an  unheard-of  sum,  a 
fortune.  Mrs.  Dott  had  no  such  illusion.  She  sat 
down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Three  thousand  dollars !"  she  exclaimed.  "Is 
that  all?  Three  thousand  dollars!" 

"All !  My  soul,  Serena !  Why,  one  thousand 
dollars  just  now  is  like " 

"Hush!  Do  be  still!  Three  thousand  dollars! 
And  she  worth  a  hundred  thousand,  if  she  was 
worth  a  cent.  A  lone  woman,  without  a  chick  or  a 
child  or  a  relation  except  you,  and  that  precious 

13 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

young  swell  of  a  cousin  of  hers  she  thought  so  much 
of.  I  suppose  he  gets  the  rest  of  it.  Oh,  how  can 
anybody  be  so  stingy  I" 

"Sh-sh,  sh-h,  Serena.  Don't  speak  so  of  the  dead. 
Why,  we  ought  to  be  mournin'  for  her,  really,  in 
stead  of  rejoicing  over  what  she  left  us.  It  ain't 
right  to  talk  so.  I'm  ashamed  of  myself — or  I 
ought  to  be.  But,  you  see,  I  thought  sure  the  letter 
was  from  those  hat  folks's  lawyers,  sayin'  they'd 
started  suit.  When  I  found  it  wasn't,  I  was  so  glad 
I  forgot  everything  else.  Ah  hum! — poor  Aunt 
Lavmy!" 

He  sighed.     His  wife  shook  her  head. 

"Daniel,"  she  said,  "I — I  declare  I  try  not  to 
lose  patience  with  you,  but  it's  awful  hard  work. 
Mourning !  Mourn  for  her  1  What  did  she  ever  do 
to  make  you  sorry  she  was  gone?  Did  she  ever 
come  near  us  when  she  was  alive?  No,  indeed,  she 
didn't.  Did  she  ever  offer  to  give  you,  or  even  lend 
you,  a  cent?  I  guess  not.  And  she  knew  you  needed 
it,  for  I  wrote  her." 

"You  did?    Serena !" 

"Yes,  I  did.  Why  shouldn't  I?  I  wrote  her  six 
months  ago,  telling  her  how  bad  your  business  was, 
and  that  Gertie  was  at  school,  and  we  were  trying 
to  give  her  a  good  education,  and  how  much  money 
it  took  and — oh,  everything.  When  your  Uncle 
Jim's  business  was  bad,  in  the  hard  times  back  in 
'73,  who  was  it  that  helped  him  out  and  saved  him 
from  bankruptcy?  Why,  his  brother — your  own 
father.  And  he  never  got  a  cent  of  it  back.  I  re 
minded  her  of  that,  too." 

Daniel  sprang  out  of  his  chair. 

14 


' 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"You  did!"  he  cried  again.  "Serena,  how  could 
you?  You  knew  how  Father  felt  about  that  money. 
You  knew  how  I  felt.  And  yet,  you  did  thatl" 

"I  did.  Somebody  in  this  family  must  be  prac 
tical  and  worldly-minded,  and  I  seem  to  be  the  one. 
You  wouldn't  ask  her  for  a  cent.  You  wouldn't 
ask  anybody  for  money,  even  if  they  owed  it  a  thou 
sand  years.  You  sell  everybody  anything  they 
want  from  the  store;  and  trust  them  for  it.  You 
know  you  do.  You  sold  that  good-for-nothing  Lem 
Brackett  a  whole  suit  of  clothes  only  last  week,  and 
he  owes  you  a  big  bill  and  has  owed  it  for  a  year." 

Her  husband  looked  troubled.  "Well,"  he  an 
swered,  slowly,  "I  suppose  likely  I  didn't  do  right 
there.  But  those  Bracketts  are  poor,  and  there's  a 
big  family  of  'em,  and  the  fall's  comin'  on,  and — 
and  all.  So " 

"So  you  thought  it  was  your  duty  to  help  support 
them,  I  suppose.  Oh,  Daniel,  Daniel,  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  you  sometimes." 

Captain  Dan  looked  very  grave. 

"I  guess  you're  right,  Serena,"  he  admitted.  "I 
ain't  much  good,  I'm  afraid." 

Mrs.  Dott's  expression  changed.  She  rose,  walked 
over,  and  kissed  him.  "You're  too  good,  that's  the 
main  trouble  with  you,"  she  said.  "Well,  I  won't 
scold  any  more.  I'm  glad  we've  got  the  three  thou 
sand  anyway — and  the  tea-pot." 

"It's  a  lovely  tea-pot,  all  engravin'  and  every 
thing.  And  the  sugar-bowl's  almost  as  pretty. 
You'll  like  'em,  Serena." 

"Yes,  I'll  love  'em,  I  don't  doubt.  You  and  I 
can  look  at  them  and  think  of  that  cousin  of  Aunt 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

L-avinia's  spending  the  rest  of  her  fortune.  No 
wonder  she  didn't  leave  him  the  tea-pot;  precious 
little  tea  he  drinks,  if  stories  we  hear  are  true. 
Well,  there's  one  good  thing  about  it — Gertie  can 
keep  on  with  her  college.  This  is  her  last  year." 

"Yes;  I  thought  of  that.  I  thought  of  a  million 
things  when  I  was  racin'  across  the  yard  with  this 
letter.  Say,  Serena,  you've  never  told  Gertie  any 
thing  about  how  trade  was  or  how  hard-up  we've 
been?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"No,  I  knew  you  wouldn't.  She's  such  a  con~ 
scientious  girl;  if  she  thought  we  couldn't  afford  it 
she  wouldn't  think  of  keepin'  on  with  that  college, 
and  I've  set  my  heart  on  her  havin'  the  best  start 
in  life  we  can  give  her." 

"I  know.  Ah  hum!  I  wish  she  could  have  the 
start  some  people's  daughters  have.  Mrs.  Black  was 
with  me  at  the  lodge  room  yesterday — we  are  deco 
rating  for  the  men's  evening  to-morrow  night,  you 
know — and  Mrs.  Black  has  been  helping  me;  she's 
awfully  kind  that  way.  You'd  think  she  belonged 
here  in  Trumet,  instead  of  being  rich  and  living  in 
Scarford  and  being  way  up  in  society  there.  She 
and  her  husband  are  just  like  common  folks." 

"Humph!  Barney  Black  is  common  folks.  He 
was  born  right  here  in  Trumet  and  his  family  was 
common  as  wharf  rats.  He  needn't  put  on  airs 
with  me." 

"Fie  doesn't.  And  yet,  if  he  was  like  some  peo 
ple,  he  would.  So  successful  in  his  big  factory, 
and  his  wife  way  up  in  the  best  circles  of  Scarford; 
she's  head  of  the  Ladies  of  Honor  there  as  I  am 

16 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

here,  and  means  to  get  a  national  office  in  the  order; 
she  told  me  so.  But  there !  that  reminds  me  that 
I  was  going  to  meet  her  at  the  lodge  room  at  ten, 
and  it's  half-past  nine  now.  Do  help  me  with  these 
hooks.  If  I  wasn't  so  fleshy  I  could  do  them  my 
self,  but  I  almost  died  hooking  the  others." 

"Why  didn't  you  call  Zuba?  She'd  have  hooked 
'em  for  you." 

"Azuba!  Heavens  and  earth!  She's  worse  than 
nobody;  her  fingers  are  all  thumbs.  Besides,  she 
would  talk  me  deaf,  dumb  and  blind.  She  doesn't 
know  her  place  at  all;  thinks  she  is  one  of  the  fam 
ily,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  she  is,  pretty  nigh.  Been  here  long 
enough." 

"I  don't  care.  She  isn't  one  of  the  family;  she's 
a  servant,  or  ought  to  be.  Oh  dear!  when  I  hear 
Annette  Black  telling  about  her  four  servants  and 
all  the  rest  it  makes  me  so  jealous,  sometimes." 

"Don't  make  me  jealous.  I'd  rather  have  you 
and  Gertie  and  this  place  than  all  Barney  Black 
owns — and  that  means  his  wife,  too." 

"Daniel,  I  keep  telling  you  not  to  call  Mr.  Black 
'Barney.'  He  is  B.  Phelps  Black  now.  Mrs.  Black 
always  calls  him  'Phelps.'  So  does  everybody  in 
Scarford,  so  she  says." 

"Want  to  know!  He  was  Barney  Black  when 
he  lived  here  regular.  Havin'  a  summer  cottage 
here  and  a  real  house  in  Scarford  must  make  a  lot 
of  difference.  By  the  way,  speakin'  of  Scarford, 
that's  where  Aunt  Laviny  used  to  live  afore  she 
went  abroad.  She  owned  a  big  house  there." 

"Why,  so  she  did!     I  wonder  what  will  become 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

of  it.  I  suppose  that  cousin  will  get  it,  along  with 
the  rest.  Oh  dear!  suppose — just  suppose  there 
wasn't  any  cousin.  Suppose  you  and  I  and  Gertie 
had  that  house  and  the  money.  Wouldn't  it  be 
splendid?  We  could  be  in  society  then." 

"Humph  !   I'd  look  pretty  in  society,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Of  course  you  would.  You'd  look  as  pretty  as 
Barney — B.  Phelps  Black,  wouldn't  you?  And  I — 
Oh,  how  I  should  love  it!  Trumet  is  so  out  of 
date.  A  real  intelligent,  ambitious  woman  has  no 
chance  in  Trumet." 

The  captain  shook  his  head.  He  recognized  the 
last  sentence  as  a  quotation  from  the  works  of  Mrs. 
Annette  Black,  self-confessed  leader  in  society  in  the 
flourishing  manufacturing  city  of  Scarford,  and  sum 
mer  resident  and  condescending  patroness  of  Tru 
met. 

"Well,"  he  observed;  "we've  got  more  chance, 
even  in  Trumet,  than  we've  had  for  the  last  year, 
thanks  to  Aunt  Laviny's  three  thousand.  It  gives  us 
a  breathin'  spell,  anyhow.  If  only  trade  in  the  store 
would  pick  up,  I — Hey!  Good  heavens  to  Betsy  I 
I  forgot  the  store  altogether.  Sam  hadn't  got  back 
from  breakfast  and  I  left  the  store  all  alone.  I 
must  be  crazy!" 

He  bolted  from  the  room  and  down  the  stairs, 
the  legacy  forgotten  for  the  moment,  and  in  his 
mind  pictures  of  rifled  showcases  and  youthful  Tru 
met  regaling  itself  with  chocolates  at  his  expense. 
Azuba  shrieked  another  question  as  her  employer 
once  more  rushed  through  the  kitchen,  but  again  her 
question  was  unanswered.  She  hurried  to  the  win 
dow  and  watched  him  running  across  the  yard. 

18 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed,  in  alarmed  soliloquy. 
"WeL.  che  next  time  I  fetch  that  man  a  letter  I'll 
fetch  the  doctor  along  with  it.  Has  the  world 
turned  upside  down,  or  what  is  the  matter?" 

She  might  have  made  a  worse  guess.  The  Dott 
world  was  turning  upside  down;  this  was  the  be 
ginning  of  the  revolution. 


CHAPTER   II 

CAPTAIN  DAN'S  fears  concerning  the  safety 
of  his  showcases  were  groundless.  Even  as 
he  sprang  up  the  steps  to  the  side  door  of 
his  place  of  business,  he  heard  familiar  voices  in 
the  store.  He  recognized  the  voices,  and,  halting 
momentarily  to  wipe  his  forehead  with  his  hand 
kerchief  and  to  regain  some  portion  of  his  com 
posure  and  his  breath,  he  walked  in. 

Gertrude,  his  daughter,  was  seated  in  his  chair 
by  the  desk,  and  John  Doane  was  leaning  upon  the 
desk,  talking  with  ner.  In  the  front  of  the  store, 
Sam  Bartlett,  the  boy,  who  had  evidently  returned 
from  breakfast,  was  doing  nothing  in  particular, 
and  doing  it  with  his  usual  air  of  enjoyment.  It 
was  only  when  required  to  work  that  Sam  was  un 
happy. 

Gertrude  looked  up  as  her  father  entered;  prior 
to  that  she  had  been  looking  at  the  blotter  on  the 
desk.  John  Doane,  who  had  been  looking  at  Ger 
trude,  also  changed  the  direction  of  his  gaze.  Cap 
tain  Dan  struggled  with  the  breath  and  the  com 
posure. 

"Why,  Dad!"  exclaimed  Gertrude.  "What  is 
it?" 

"What's  the  matter,  Cap'n  Dott?"  asked  Mr. 
Doane. 

Daniel  did  his  best  to  appear  calm;  it  was  a  poor 
20 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

best.  At  fifty-two  one  cannot  run  impromptu  hurdle 
races  against  time,  and  show  no  effects. 

"Hey?"  he  panted.  "Matter?  Nothin's  the  mat 
ter.  I  left  the  store  alone  for  a  minute  and  I  was 
in  a  kind  of  hurry  to  get  back  to  it,  that's  all." 

The  explanation  was  not  entirely  satisfactory. 
Gertrude  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"A  minute,"  she  repeated.  "Left  it  a  minute! 
Why,  John  and  I  nave  been  here  fifteen  minutes, 
and  Sam  was  here  when  we  came." 

The  captain  looked  at  his  watch.  "Well,  maybe 
'twas  a  little  more'n  a  minute,"  he  admitted. 

Master  Bartlett  sauntered  up  to  take  part  in  the 
conversation. 

"I  got  here  twenty  minutes  ago,"  he  observed, 
grinning,  "and  you  wasn't  here  then,  Cap'n  Dan'l. 
I  was  wonderin'  what  had  become  of  ye.': 

Daniel  seized  the  opportunity  to  change  the  sub 
ject. 

"Anybody  been  in  since  you  came?"  he  asked, 
addressing  Sam. 

"No,  nobody  special.  Abel  Calvin  was  in  to  sec 
if  you  wanted  to  buy  some  beach  plums  for  puttin' 
up.  He  said  he  had  about  a  bushel  of  first-rate 
ones,  just  picked." 

"Beach  plums!  What  in  time  would  I  want  of 
beach  plums?  I  don't  put  up  preserves,  do  I?  Why 
didn't  he  go  to  the  house?" 

"I  asked  him  that,  myself,  and  he  said  'twa'n't 


no  use." 


"No  use!     What  did  he  mean  by  that?" 
"Well,  he  said — he  said — "     Sam  seemed  sud 
denly  to  realize  that  he  was  getting  into  deep  water; 

21 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"he  said — he  said  somethin'  or  other;  I  guess  IVc 
forgot  what  'twas." 

"I  guess  you  ain't.     What  did  he  say?" 

"Well,  he  said — he  said  Serena — Mrs.  Dott,  I 
mean — was  probably  gallivantin'  down  to  the  lodge 
room  by  this  time.  Said  'twa'n't  no  use  tryin'  to  get 
her  to  attend  to  common  things  or  common  folks 
nowadays;  she  was  too  busy  tryin'  to  keep  up  with 
Annette  Black." 

This  literal  quotation  from  the  frank  Mr.  Calvin 
caused  a  sensation.  Captain  Dan  struggled  to  find 
words.  His  daughter  laid  a  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

"Never  mind,  Dad,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "You 
know  what  Abel  Calvin  is;  you  don't  mind  what  he 
says.  Sam,  you  shouldn't  repeat  such  nonsense. 
Run  away  now  and  attend  to  your  work.  I'm  sure 
there's  enough  for  you  to  do." 

"You — you  go  and  clean  up  the  cellar,"  ordered 
the  irate  captain.  Sam  departed  cellarward,  mut 
tering  that  it  wasn't  his  fault;  he  hadn't  said  nothin'. 
Gertrude  spoke  again. 

"Don't  mind  that,  Dad,"  she  urged.  "Why,  how 
warm  you  are,  and  how  excited  you  look.  What 
is  it?  You  haven't  spoken  a  word  to  John." 

Her  father  shook  his  head.  "Mornin',  John," 
he  said.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ain't  responsible 
to-day,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  I — I've  had  some  news 
that's  drivin'  everything  else  out  of  my  mind." 

"News?  Why,  Dad!  what  do  you  mean?  Bad 
news?" 

"No,  no  I  Good  as  ever  was,  and 

Humph !  no,  I  don't  mean  that.  It  is  bad  news,  of 
course.  Your  Great-aunt  Laviny's  dead,  Gertie." 

22 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

He  told  of  the  lawyer's  letter,  omitting  for  the 
present  the  news  of  the  legacy.  Gertrude  was  in 
terested,  but  not  greatly  shocked  or  grieved.  She 
had  met  her  great-aunt  but  once  during  her  life 
time,  and  her  memory  of  the  deceased  was  of  a 
stately  female,  whose  earrings  and  brooches  and 
rings  sparkled  as  if  she  was  on  fire  in  several  places; 
who  sat  bolt  upright  at  the  further  end  of  a  hotel 
room  in  Boston,  and  ordered  Captain  Dan  not  to 
bring  "that  child"  any  nearer  until  its  hands  were 
washed.  As  she  had  been  the  child  and  had  dis 
tinctly  disagreeable  recollections  of  the  said  hands 
having  been  washed  three  times  before  admittance 
to  the  presence,  the  memory  was  not  too  pleasant. 
She  said  she  was  sorry  to  hear  that  Aunt  Lavinia 
was  no  more,  and  asked  when  it  happened.  Her 
father  told  what  he  knew  of  the  circumstances  at 
tending  the  bereavement,  which  was  not  much. 

"She's  gone,  anyhow,"  he  said.  "It's  liable  to 
happen  to  any  of  us,  bein'  cut  off  that  way.  We 
ought  to  be  prepared,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  so.  But,  Daddy,  Aunt  Lavinia  wasn't 
cut  off  exactly,  was  she?  She  was  your  aunt  and 
she  must  have  been  quite  old." 

"Hey?  Why,  let's  see.  She  was  your  grandpa's 
brother's  wife,  and  he — Uncle  Jim,  I  mean — was 
about  four  years  older  than  Father.  She  was  three 
years  younger'n  he  was  when  he  married  her.  Let's 
see  again.  Father — that's  your  grandpa,  Gertie — 
was  sixty-five  when  he  died  and  .  .  .  Humph! 
No,  Aunt  Laviny  was  eighty-eight,  or  thereabouts. 
She  wasn't  exactly  cut  off,  was  she,  come  to  think 
of  it?" 

23 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Gertrude's  brown  eyes  twinkled.  "Not  exactly — 
no,"  she  said,  gravely.  "Well,  Daddy,  I'm  sure  I 
am  sorry  she  has  gone,  but,  considering  that  she  has 
never  deigned  to  visit  us  or  have  us  visit  her,  or 
even  to  write  you  a  letter  for  the  past  two  years,  I 
don't  think  we  should  be  expected  to  mourn  greatly. 
And,"  glancing  at  him,  "I  don't  understand  just 
what  you  meant  by  saying  first  that  the  news  was 
good,  and  then  that  it  was  bad.  There  is  some 
thing  else,  isn't  there?" 

Her  father  smiled,  in  an  embarrassed  way. 
"Well,  ye — es,"  he  admitted,  "there  is  somethin' 
else,  but — but  I  don't  know  as  I  didn't  do  wrong  to 
feel  so  good  over  it.  I — I  guess  I'll  tell  you  by  and 
by,  if  you  don't  mind.  Maybe  then  I  won't  feel — 
act,  I  mean — so  tickled.  It  don't  seem  right  that 
I  should  be.  Let  me  get  sort  of  used  to  it  first.  I'll 
tell  you  pretty  soon." 

His  daughter  laughed,  softly.  "I  know  you  will, 
Dad,"  she  said.  "You  couldn't  keep  a  secret  in  that 
dear  old  head  of  yours  if  you  tried.  Not  from  me, 
anyway;  could  you,  dear?" 

"I  guess  not,"  regarding  her  fondly.  "Anyhow, 
I  shan't  try  to  keep  this  one.  Well,  this  time 
to-morrow  you'll  be  back  at  college  again,  in 
among  all  those  Greek  and  Latin  folks. 
Wonder  she'll  condescend  to  come  and  talk  plain 
United  States  to  us  Cape  Codders,  ain't  it, 
John." 

John  Doane  admitted  that  it  was  a  wonder.  He 
seemed  to  regard  Miss  Dott  as  a  very  wonderful 
young  person  altogether.  Gertrua  glanced  up  at 
him,  then  at  her  father,  and  then  a  the  blotter  on 

24 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  desk.  She  absently  played  with  the  pages  of  the 
ledger. 

"Dad,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "you  are  not  the  only 
one  who  has  a  secret." 

The  captain  turned  and  looked  at  her.  Her 
head  was  bent  over  the  ledger  and  he  could  see  but 
the  top  of  a  very  becoming  hat,  a  stray  lock  of 
wavy  brown  hair,  and  the  curve  of  a  very  pretty 
cheek.  The  cheek — what  he  could  see  of  it — was 
crimson.  He  looked  up  at  Mr.  Doane.  That 
young  man's  face  was  crimson  also. 

"Oh!"  said  Captain  Daniel;  and  added,  "I  want 
to  know!" 

"Yes,  you're  not  the  only  one.  We — I — there  is 
another  secret.  Daddy,  dear,  John  wants  to  talk 
with  you." 

The  captain  looked  at  Mr.  Doane,  then  at  the 
hat  and  the  face  beneath  it. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  again. 

"Yes.  I — I — "  She  rose  and,  putting  her  arms 
about  her  father's  neck,  kissed  him.  "I  will  be  back 
before  long,  dear,"  she  whispered,  and  hurried  out. 
Mr.  Doane  cleared  his  throat.  Captain  Dan  waited. 

"Well,  sir,"  began  the  young  man,  and  stopped. 
The  captain  continued  to  wait. 

"Well,  sir,"  began  Mr.  Doane,  again,  "I—I—" 
For  one  who,  as  Gertrude  had  declared,  wished  to 
talk,  he  seemed  to  be  finding  the  operation  difficult. 
"I —  Well,  sir,  the  fact  is,  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

Captain  Dan,  who  was  looking  very  grave,  ob 
served  that  he  "wanted  to  know."  John  Doane 
cleared  his  throat  once  more,  and  took  a  fresh  start. 

25 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  have  something  to  say  to 
you — er — something  that — that  may  surprise  you." 

A  faint  smile  disturbed  the  gravity  of  the  cap 
tain's  face. 

"May  surprise  me,  hey?"  he  repeated.  "Is  that 
so?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  I  —  Gertie  and  I  —  have  — 
are -" 

Daniel  looked  up. 

"Hard  navigatin',  ain't  it,  John?"  he  inquired, 
whimsically.  "Maybe  I  could  help  you  over  the 
shoals.  You  and  Gertie  think  you'd  like  to  get  mar 
ried  sometime  or  other,  I  presume  likely.  Is  that 
what  you're  tryin'  to  tell  me?" 

There  was  no  doubt  of  it.  The  young  man's  face 
expressed  several  emotions,  relief  that  the  great 
secret  was  known,  and  surprise  that  anyone  should 
have  guessed  it. 

"Why,  yes,  sir,"  he  admitted,  "that  is  it.  Gertie 
and  I  have  known  each  other  for  years,  ever  since 
we  were  children,  in  fact;  and,  you  see — you 

see "  he  paused  once  more,  began  again,  and 

then  broke  out  impatiently  with,  "I'm  making  an 
awful  mess  of  this.  I  don't  know  why." 

Captain  Dan's  smile  broadened. 

"I  made  just  as  bad  a  one  myself,  once  on  a 
time,"  he  observed.  "Just  as  bad,  or  worse — and  / 
didn't  know  why  either.  There,  John,  you  sit  down. 
Come  to  anchor  alongside  here,  and  let's  talk  this 
thing  over  in  comfort." 

Mr.  Doane  "came  to  anchor"  on  an  empty  pack 
ing  case  beside  the  desk.  As  he  was  tall  and  big, 
and  the  box  was  low  and  small,  the  "comfort"  was 

26 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

doubtful.  However,  neither  of  the  pair  noticed  this 
at  the  time, 

"So  you  think  you  want  Gertie,  do  you,  John?" 
said  the  captain. 

"I  know  it,"  was  the  emphatic  answer. 

"So.     And  she  thinks  she  wants  you?" 

"She  says  so." 

"Humph!"  with  a  sidelong  glance.  "Think  she 
means  it?" 

"I'm  trying  to  believe  she  does." 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered  caused  Cap 
tain  Dan  to  chuckle.  "  'Tis  strange,  I'll  give  in,"  he 
remarked,  drily.  "No  accountin'  for  taste,  is  there. 
Well,"  his  gravity  returning,  "I  suppose  likely  you 
realize  that  her  mother  and  I  think  consider'ble  of 
her." 

"I  realize  that  thoroughly." 

"You  don't  realize  it  as  much  as  you  will  some 
day,  perhaps.  Yes,  we  think  Gertie's  about  right. 
She's  a  smart  girl  and,  what's  more,  she's  a  good 
girl,  and  she's  all  the  child  we've  got.  Of  course 
we've  realized  that  she  was  growin'  up  and  that — < 
Oh,  good  mornin',  Alphy.  Fine  weather,  ain't  it. 
Lookin'  for  somethin',  was  you?" 

He  hurried  out  into  the  store  to  sell  Mrs.  The- 
ophilus  Berry,  known  locally  as  "Alphy  Ann,"  a 
box  of  writing  paper  and  a  penholder.  The  trans 
action  completed,  he  returned  to  his  chair.  John 
Doane,  who  had  recovered,  in  a  measure,  from  his 
embarrassment,  was  ready  for  him. 

"Cap'n  Dott,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  know  how 
you  feel,  I  think.  I  know  what  Gertie  is  to  you  and 
how  anxious  you  and  her  mother  must  be  concerning 

27 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

her  future.  If  I  did  not  feel  certain — practically 
certain — that  I  could  give  her  a  good  home  and 
all  that  goes  with  it,  I  should  not  have  presumed  to 
speak  to  her,  or  to  you,  concerning  marriage.  My 
business  prospects  are  good,  or  I  think  they  are. 
I " 

The  captain  held  up  his  hand.  "Er — er — John," 
he  said,  uneasily,  "maybe  you'd  better  tell  about 
that  part  of  it  when  Serena's  around.  She's  the 
practical  one  of  us  two,  I  guess,  far's  money's  con 
cerned,  anyway.  I  used  to  think  I  was  pretty  prac 
tical  when  I  was  on  salt  water,  but — but  lately  I 
ain't  so  sure.  I'm  afraid " 

He  stopped,  began  to  speak  again,  and  then  re 
lapsed  into  silence,  seeming  to  forget  his  companion 
altogether.  The  latter  reminded  him  by  saying: 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  tell  Mrs.  Dott  everything,  of 
course.  I  have  been  with  the  firm  now  employing 
me  for  eight  years,  ever  since  I  left  high  school. 
They  seem  to  like  me.  I  have  been  steadily  ad 
vanced,  my  salary  is  a  fairly  good  one,  and  in  an 
other  year  I  have  the  promise  of  a  partnership. 
After  that  my  progress  will  depend  upon  myself." 

He  went  on,  in  a  manly,  straightforward  manner, 
to  speak  of  his  hopes  and  ambitions.  Daniel  lis 
tened,  but  the  most  of  what  he  heard  was  incompre 
hensible.  Increased  output  and  decreased  manufac 
turing  costs  were  Greek  to  him.  When  the  young 
man  paused,  he  brought  the  conversation  back  to 
what,  in  his  mind,  was  the  essential. 

"And  you're  certain  sure  that  you  two  care  enough 
for  each  other?"  he  asked.  "Not  just  care,  but  care 
enough?" 

28 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  I  guess  I  ain't  got  much  to  say. 
There's  one  thing,  though.  Gertie's  young.  She 
ain't  finished  her  schoolin'  yet,  and — " 

"And  you  think  she  should.  So  do  I.  She  wishes 
to  do  it,  herself,  and  I  should  be  the  last  to  prevent 
her,  even  if  I  could.  We  have  agreed  that  she  shall 
have  the  final  year  at  college  and  then  come  back  to 
you.  After  that — well,  after  that,  the  time  of  our 
marriage  can  be  settled.  Gertie  and  I  are  willing  to 
wait;  we  expect  to.  In  a  few  years  I  shall  have  a 
little  more  money,  I  hope,  and  be  more  sure  of  suc 
cess  in  life.  I  may  never  be  a  rich  man,  but  Gertie's 
tastes  and  mine  are  modest.  She  does  not  care  for 
society " 

The  captain  interrupted.  "That's  so,"  he  said, 
hastily,  "she  don't.  She  don't  care  for  'em  at  all. 
Her  mother  has  the  greatest  work  to  get  her  to  go 
to  lodge  meetin's.  No,  she  don't  care  for  societies 
any  more'n  I  do.  Well,  John,  I — I — it'll  come 
pretty  hard  to  give  her  up  to  anybody.  Wait  till 
you  have  a  daughter  of  your  own  and  you'll  know 
how  hard.  But,  if  I've  got  to  give  her  up,  I'd  rather 
give  her  to  you  than  anybody  I  know.  You're  a 
Trumet  boy  and  I've  known  you  all  my  life,  and  so's 
Gertie,  for  that  matter.  All  I  can  say  is,  God  bless 
you  and — and  take  good  care  of  my  girl,  that's  all." 

He  extended  his  hand  and  John  seized  it.  Then 
the  captain  coughed,  blew  his  nose  with  vigor,  and, 
reaching  into  his  pocket,  produced  two  battered 
cigars. 

"Smoke  up,  John,"  he  said. 

At  dinner,  a  meal  at  which  Mrs.  Dott,  still  busy 

29 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

with  the  lodge  room  decorations,  was  not  present, 
Gertrude  and  her  father  talked  it  over. 

"It  comes  kind  of  hard,  Gertie,"  he  admitted, 
"but,  Lord  love  you,  there's  a  heap  of  hard  things 
in  this  world.  John's  a  good  fellow  and — and,  well, 
we  ain't  goin'  to  lose  you  just  yet,  anyhow." 

Gertrude  rose  and,  coming  around  the  table,  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Indeed  you're  not,  dear,"  she  said.  "If  I  sup 
posed  my  marriage  meant  giving  you  ups  I  shouldn't 
think  of  it." 

"Want  to  know !  Wouldn't  think  of  John,  either, 
I  suppose,  hey?" 

"Well,  I — I  might  think  of  him  a  little,  just  a 
tiny  little  bit." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  That's  all  right.  You 
can't  get  rid  of  me  so  easy.  After  you  two  are  all 
settled  in  your  fine  new  house,  I'll  be  comin'  around 
to  disgrace  you,  puttin'  my  boots  on  the  furniture 
and " 

"Dad!" 

"Won't  I?  Well,  maybe  I  won't.  I  cal'late  by 
that  time  I'll  be  broke  to  harness.  Your  mother's 
gettin'  in  with  the  swells  so,  lately,  Barney  Black's 
wife  and  the  rest,  that  I'll  have  to  mind  my  manners. 
There !  let's  go  into  the  sittin'-room  a  few  minutes 
and  give  Zuba  a  chance  to  clear  off.  Sam's  tendin' 
store  and  his  dinner  can  wait  a  spell;  judgin'  by  the 
time  he  took  for  breakfast  he  hadn't  ought  to  be 
hungry  for  the  next  week." 

In  the  sitting-room  they  spoke  of  many  things, 
of  Gertrude's  departure  for  school — she  was  leav 
ing  on  the  three  o'clock  train — of  the  engagement, 


of  course,  and  of  the  three  thousand  dollar  wind 
fall  from  Aunt  Lavinia.  The  captain  had  told 
that  bit  of  news  when  they  sat  down  to  dinner. 

"What  is  that  cousin's  name?"  asked  Gertrude. 
"The  one  who  inherits  all  of  your  aunt's  fortune?" 

"Let's  see.  His  name?  I  ought  to  know  it  well's 
I  know  my  own.  It's — it's  Starvation,  or  somethin* 
like  that.  Somethin'  about  bein'  hungry,  anyhow*. 
Hungerford,  Percy  Hungerford,  that's  it!" 

Gertrude  looked  surprised. 

"Not  Percy  Hungerford — of  Scarford!"  she 
cried.  "What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?  What  does  he 
look  like?" 

"Looked  like  a  picked  chicken,  last  time  I  saw 
him.  Kind  of  a  spindlin'  little  critter,  with  sandy 
complexion  and  hair,  but  dressed — my  soull 
there  wasn't  any  picked  chicken  look  about  his 
clothes." 

Gertrude  nodded.  "I  believe  it  is  the  same  one," 
she  said.  "Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it.  He  came  out  to 
the  college  at  one  of  our  commencements.  One  of 
the  girls  invited  him.  He  danced  with  me — once. 
They  said  he  was  very  wealthy." 

"Humph!  All  the  wealth  he  had  come  from 
Aunt  Laviny,  far's  I  ever  heard.  He  was  her  pet 
and  the  only  thing  she  ever  spent  money  on,  except 
herself.  And  you  met  him!  Well,  this  is  a  small 
world.  Like  him,  did  you?" 

"No,"  said  Gertrude,  and  changed  the  subject. 

Before  her  father  departed  for  the  store  and  she 
went  to  her  room  to  finish  packing,  she  sat  upon  the 
arm  of  his  chair  and,  bending  down,  said: 

"Daddy,  if  you  hadn't  got  this  money,  this  three 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

thousand  dollars,  do  you  know  what  I  had  very 
nearly  made  up  my  mind  to  do?" 

"No,  I'm  sure  I  don't." 

"I  had  almost  decided  not  to  stay  at  college,  but 
to  come  back  here  and  live  with  you  and  mother." 

"For  the  land  sakes!     Why?" 

"Because  1  was  sure  you  needed  me.  You  never 
told  me,  of  course — being  you,  you  wouldn't — but  I 
was  sure  that  you  were  troubled  about — about 
things." 

"Me?  Troubled?  What  put  that  into  your 
head?  I'm  the  most  gay,  happy-go-lucky  fellow  in 
the  world.  I  don't  get  troubled  enough.  Ask  your 
mother  if  that  ain't  so." 

"I  shall  not  ask  anybody  but  you.  Tell  me  truly: 
Weren't  you  troubled;  about  the  business,  and  the 
store?  Truly,  now." 

Captain  Dan  rubbed  his  chin.  He  wished  very 
much  to  deny  the  allegation,  or  at  least  to  dodge 
the  truth.  But  he  was  a  poor  prevaricator  at  any 
time,  and  his  daughter  was  looking  him  straight  in 
the  eye. 

"Well,"  he  faltered,  "I— I— How  in  time  did 
you  guess  that?  I — Humph !  why,  yes,  I  was  a  little 
mite  upset.  You  see,  trade  ain't  been  first  rate  this 
summer,  and  collections  were  awful  slow.  I  hate  to 
drive  folks,  especially  when  I  know  they're  hard  up. 
I  was  a  little  worried,  but  it's  all  right  now.  Aunt 
Laviny's  three  thousand  fixed  that  all  right.  It'll 
carry  me  along  like  a  full  sail  breeze.  You  go  back 
to  school,  like  a  sensible  girl,  and  don't  you  worry 
a  mite.  It's  all  right  now,  Gertie." 

"Honest?" 

32 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Honest  to  Betsy!"  with  an  emphatic  nod. 

He  meant  it;  he  really  thought  it  was  all  right. 
The  fact  that  he  owed  a  thousand  already  and  that 
the  remaining  two  would  almost  certainly  be  swept 
into  the  capacious  maw  of  the  Metropolitan  Store 
did  not  occur  to  him  then.  Daniel  Dott  was  a  fail 
ure  as  a  business  man  but  as  an  optimist  he  was  a 
huge  success. 

"Then  you're  sure  you  can  afford  to  have  me  go 
back  for  my  last  year?" 

"Course  I  am.  I  couldn't  afford  to  do  anything 
else." 

His  absolute  certainty  stifled  his  daughter's  doubts 
for  the  time,  but  she  asked  another  question. 

"And  there's  nothing  that  troubles  you  at  all?" 

"No-o."  The  captain's  answer  was  not  quite  as 
emphatic  this  time.  Gertrude  smiled,  and  patted  his 
shoulder. 

"Daddy,  dear,"  she  said,  "you're  as  transparent 
as  a  window  pane,  aren't  you.  Well,  don't  worry 
any  more.  That  will  be  all  right  pretty  soon, 
too.  Mrs.  Black  doesn't  stay  in  Trumet  all  the 
year." 

Her  father  gasped.  That  this  child  of  his,  whom 
he  had  always  regarded  as  a  child,  should  dive  into 
the  recesses  of  his  soul  and  drag  to  light  its  most 
secret  misgivings  was  amazing. 

"What  on  earth?"  he  demanded. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  I'm  not  blind.  I  can 
see.  Mother  is  just  a  little  carried  away.  She  has 
heard  so  much  about  big  houses  and  servants  and 
society  and  woman's  opportunity,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it,  that  she  has  been  swept  off  her  feet.  But  it  won't 

33 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

last,  I'm  sure.     She  isn't  really  discontented;  she 
only  thinks  she  is." 

Daniel  sighed.  "I  know,"  he  said.  "Fact  is,  I 
ain't  up-to-date  enough,  myself,  that's  what's  the 
matter.  She's  a  mighty  able,  ambitious  woman,  your 
mother  is,  Gertie,  and  I  don't  wonder  she  gets  to 
thinkin',  sometimes,  that  Trumet  is  a  kind  of  one- 
horse  town.  I  like  it;  I  am  one-horse,  I  suppose. 
But  she  ain't,  and  she  ain't  satisfied  to  be  satisfied, 
like  me.  It's  a  good  thing  she  ain't,  I  guess.  Some 
body's  got  to  live  up  to  the  responsibilities  of  life, 
and 'f 

Gertrude  laughed.  "She  said  that,  didn't  she," 
she  interrupted. 

"Why,  yes,  she  did.  She  says  it  every  once  in  a 
while.  How  did  you  know?" 

"I  guessed.     And  I  imagine  Mrs.  Phelps  Black 

said  it  first.  But  there,  Dad,  be  patient  and 

Sh-sh!   here's  Mother  now." 

It  was  Serena,  sure  enough,  breathless  from 
hurrying,  her  hat  a  bit  on  one  side,  one  glove  off  and 
the  other  on,  but  full  of  energy  and  impatience. 

"I  suppose  you've  had  dinner,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Well,  all  right,  I  don't  care.  I  couldn't  help  being 
late,  there  was  so  much  to  do  at  the  lodge  rooms 
and  nobody  to  do  it  right,  except  me.  If  Mrs.  Black 
hadn't  helped  and  superintended  and — and  every 
thing,  I  don't  know  where  we  should  have  been. 
And  those  visiting  delegates  from  Boston  coming! 
I  must  get  a  bite  and  hurry  back.  Where's  Azuba  ? 
Azuba !" 

She  was  rushing  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen, 
but  her  husband  detained  her. 

34 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 


«i 


'Hold  on,  Serena,"  he  shouted.  "Coin'  back  I 
What  do  you  mean?  You  ain't  goin'  back  to  that 
lodge  this  afternoon,  are  you?  Why,  Gertie's  goin' 
on  the  up-train!" 

"I  know,  but  I  must  go  back,  Daniel.  Goodness 
knows  what  would  happen  if  I  didn't.  If  you  had 
seen  some  of  the  decorations  those  other  women 
wanted  to  put  up,  you  would  think  it  was  necessary 
for  someone  with  respectable  taste  to  be  there. 
Why,  Sophronia  Smalley  actually  would  have  draped 
the  presiding  officer's  desk — my  desk — with  a  blue 
flag  with  a  white  whale  on  it,  if  I  hadn't  been  there 
to  stop  her." 

"Well,  I Why,  Serena,  you  know  Sophrony 

thinks  a  sight  of  that  flag.  Simeon  Smalley,  her 
father,  was  in  the  whalin'  trade  for  years,  and  that 
flag  was  his  private  signal.  She  always  has  that  flag 
up  somewhere." 

"Well,  she  shan't  have  it  on  my  desk.  Annette — 
Mrs.  Black,  I  mean — said  it  was  ridiculous.  If  such 
a  thing  happened  in  Scarford  the  audience  would 
have  hysterics.  Would  you  want  your  wife  to  make 
a  spectacle  of  herself,  before  those  Boston  delegates, 
standing  behind  a  white  whale,  and  a  dirty  white  at 
that!  Gertie,  I  shall  be  at  the  depot  to  say  good 
by,  but  I  must  be  at  that  lodge  room  first.  I  must. 
You  understand,  don't  you?" 

Gertrude  said  she  understood  perfectly  and  her 
mother  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  ate  luke 
warm  fried  fish  and  apple  pie,  while  Azuba  washed 
the  dishes  and  prophesied  darkly  concerning  "dys- 
pepsy."  Gertrude  went  to  her  room  to  put  the  last 
few  things  in  her  trunks,  and  Captain  Dan  returned 

35 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

to  the  store,  where  he  found  the  Bartlett  boy  pacify 
ing  a  gnawing  appetite  with  chocolate  creams  ab 
stracted  from  stock. 

At  a  quarter  to  three  the  captain  was  at  the  rail 
way  station,  where  he  was  joined  by  John  Doane, 
who,  his  vacation  over,  was  returning  to  Boston. 
After  a  five-minute  wait  Serena  and  Gertrude  ap 
peared.  The  latter  had  called  at  the  lodge  room 
for  her  mother  and,  during  the  walk  to  the  station, 
had  broken  the  news  of  her  engagement. 

Serena  was  not  surprised,  of  course;  she,  like 
everyone  else,  had  expected  it,  and  she  liked  John. 
But  she  was  a  good  deal  agitated  and  even  the  por 
tentous  business  of  the  lodge  meeting  was  driven 
from  her  mind.  She  and  Mr.  Doane  shook  hands, 
but  the  young  man  felt  very  much  like  a  thief,  and 
a  particularly  mean  sort  of  thief,  as  young  men  are 
likely  to  feel  under  such  circumstances.  Farewells 
were  harder  to  say  than  usual,  although  Gertrude 
tried  her  best  to  seem  cheerful,  and  the  captain 
swallowed  the  lump  in  his  throat  and  smiled  and 
joked  in  a  ghastly  fashion  all  through  the  ceremony. 
Just  before  the  train  started,  his  daughter  led  him 
to  one  side  and  whispered: 

"Now,  Daddy,  remember — you  are  not  to  worry. 
And,  if  you  need  me  at  any  time,  you  will  tell  me 
so,  and  I  shall  surely  come.  You'll  promise,  won't 
you?  And  you  will  write  at  least  once  a  week?" 

The  captain  made  both  promises.  They  kissed, 
Serena  and  Gertrude  exchanged  hugs,  and  John 
Doane  solemnly  shook  hands  once  more.  Then  the 
train  moved  away  from  the  station. 

Daniel  and  Serena  walked  homeward,  Mrs.  Dott 
36 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

wiping  her  eyes  with  a  damp  handkerchief,  and  her 
husband  very  grave  and  silent.  As  they  passed  the 
lodge  building  the  lady  said: 

"I  ought  to  go  right  back  in  there  again.  I  ought 
to,  but  I  just  can't,  not  now.  I — I  want  to  be  with 
you,  Daniel,  a  time  like  this." 

"Goodness  knows  I  want  you,  Serena;  but — but 
for  mercy  sakes  don't  call  it  a  'time  like  this.' 
Sounds  as  if  we'd  just  come  from  the  cemetery  in 
stead  of  the  depot.  We  ain't  been  to  a  funeral; 
we're  only  lookin'  for'ard  to  a  weddin'." 

In  spite  of  this  philosophical  declaration  the  re 
mainder  of  that  afternoon  was  rather  funereal  for 
Captain  Dan.  He  moped  about  the  store,  waiting 
half-heartedly  upon  the  few  customers  who  hap 
pened  in,  and  the  ring  of  the  supper  bell  was  wel 
come,  as  it  promised  some  company  other  than  his 
thoughts. 

But  the  promise  was  not  fulfilled.  He  ate  his 
supper  alone.  Mrs.  Dott  had  gone  back  to  the 
lodge  room,  so  Azuba  said. 

"I  don't  think  she  was  intendin'  to,"  remarked 
the  latter,  confidentially.  "She  said  she  guessed 
she'd  'lay  down  a  spell' ;  said  she  was  'kind  of  tired.' 
But  afore  she  got  upstairs  scarcely,  along  comes  that 
Black  automobile  with  that  Irish  'shover  man' — 
that's  what  they  call  'em,  ain't  it? — drivin'  it  and 
her  in  the  back  seat,  and  he  gets  out  and  comes  and 
rings  the  front  door  bell,  and  when  I  answer  it — 
had  my  hands  all  plastered  up  with  dough,  I  did, 
for  I  was  makin'  pie,  and  it  took  me  the  longest 
time  to  get  'em  clean — when  I  answered  it  he  said 
that  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  her  and " 

37 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Here !  hold  on,  Zuba !"  interrupted  her  bewil* 
dered  employer.  "  'Vast  heavin'  a  second,  will  you? 
You  ought  to  run  that  yarn  of  yours  through  a  sieve 
and  strain  some  of  the  'ties'  and  'shes'  out  of  itv 
'He  said  that  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  her.'  Who 
wanted  to  see  what?" 

"Why,  Barney  Black's  wife.  She  wanted  to  set 
Serena.  So  in  she  came,  all  rigged  up  in  her  best 
clothes  and " 

"How  do  you  know  they  were  her  best  ones?" 

"Hey?  Well,  they  would  have  been  my  best  ones, 
if  7  owned  'em,  I  tell  you  that.  I  never  see  such 
clothes  as  that  woman  has!  All  trimmin'  and 
flounces  and  didos,  and " 

"Hi !  steady  there,  Zuba.  Keep  your  eye  on  the 
compass.  You're  gettin'  off  the  course  again.  An 
nette — Mrs.  Black,  I  mean — came  to  see  Mrs.  Dott; 
that's  plain  sailin'  so  far.  What  happened  after 
that?" 

"Why,  they  went  off  together  in  the  automobile 
and  Serena  said  to  tell  you  she  had  to  go  to  lodge, 
and  she'd  be  back  when  she  could  and  not  to  wait 
supper.  That's  all  I  know." 

The  captain  finished  his  lonely  meal  and  returned 
to  the  store,  where  he  found  Abel  Blount's  wife  and 
their  twin  boys,  aged  eight,  waiting  to  negotiate  for 
rubber  boots.  The  boots  were  for  the  boys,  but 
Mrs.  Blount  did  the  buying  and  it  was  a  long  and 
talky  process.  At  last,  however,  the  youngsters 
were  fitted  and  clumped  proudly  away,  bearing 
their  leather  shoes  in  their  hands.  It  was  a  dry 
evening,  but  to  separate  the  twins  from  those  rubber 
boots  would  have  been  next  door  to  an  impossibility. 

38 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  she  bade  the 
captain  good  night,  "that's  done;  that  much  is  set 
tled  anyhow.  I'm  thankful  I  ain't  got  four  twins, 
instead  of  two,  Cap'n  Dott." 

Daniel,  entering  the  sale  in  the  ledger,  was  thank 
ful  also.  If  the  lengthy  Blount  account  had  been  set 
tled  he  would  have  been  still  more  so. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  and  Sam  locked  up,  extin 
guished  the  lamps,  and  closed  the  Metropolitan 
Store  for  the  night.  Crossing  the  yard  to  the  house, 
which  he  entered  by  the  front  door,  he  found  Se 
rena  in  the  sitting-room.  She  was  reclining  upon 
the  couch.  She  was  tired,  and  out  of  sorts. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  acknowledging  her 
husband's  greeting  with  a  nod,  "I  am  just  about 
worn  out,  Daniel." 

"I  should  think  you  would  be,  Serena.  You've 
been  makin'  tracks  between  here  and  that  lodge 
room  all  to-day  and  yesterday,  too.  I  should  think 
you'd  be  about  dead." 

"It  isn't  that.  I  don't  mind  the  work.  It's  the 
thanklessness  of  it  all  that  breaks  me  down.  I  give 
my  time  and  effort  to  help  the  lodge,  and  what  does 
it  amount  to?" 

"Well,  I — I  give  in  that  it  don't  seem  to  me  to 
amount  to  much,  'cordin'  to  my  figurin'.  I  don't 
care  much  for  lodge  meetin's  and  sociables  and  such, 
myself.  I'd  rather  have  one  evenin'  at  home  with 
you  than  the  whole  cargo  of  'em." 

This  statement  was  frank,  but  it  was  decidedly 
undiplomatic.  Serena  sniffed  contempt. 

"Of  course  you  would!"  she  said.  "I  don't  get  a 
bit  of  encouragement  here  at  home,  either.  I  should 

39 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

think  you'd  be  proud  to  have  your  wife  the  head,  of 
the  Chapter,  presiding  at  meetings  and  welcoming 
the  visiting  delegates  and — and  all." 

"I  am,"  hastily.  "I'm  proud  of  you,  Serena.  Al 
ways  have  been,  far's  that  goes.  But  I'm  just  as 
proud  of  you  here  in  this  sittin'-room  as  I  am  when 
you're  back  of  that  pulpit,  poundin'  with  your  rnallet 
and  tellin'  Alphy  Ann  Berry  to  'come  to  order.' 
Notwithstanding  that  you're  the  only  one  can 
make  her  come — or  go,  either — unless  she  takes  a 
notion.  Why,"  with  a  chuckle,  "it  takes  her  hus 
band  half  an  hour  to  make  her  go  home  after  meet- 


m's  over." 


Mrs.  Dott  did  not  chuckle. 

"You  think  it's  a  joke,"  she  said.  "I  don't.  It 
is  the  Berry  woman  and  her  kind  that  make  me  dis 
gusted.  I'm  tired  of  them  all.  I'm  tired  of  Tru- 
met.  I  wish  we  were  somewhere  where  I  had  an 
opportunity;  somewhere  where  I  might  be  appre 
ciated." 

"/  appreciate  you,  Serena." 

Serena  ignored  the  remark.  "I  wish  we  had 
never  settled  here,"  she  went  on.  "I'd  leave  in  a 
minute,  if  I  could.  I'd  like  to  be  in  with  nice  people, 
cultivated  people,  intelligent,  up-to-date  society, 
where  I  could  have  a  chance  to  go  on  and  be  some 
body.  I'd  like  to  be  a  leader.  I  could  be.  An 
nette  says  I  would  be  in  a  city  like  Scarford.  She 
says  I  'have  the  faculty  of  the  born  leader.'  All  I 
lack  is  the  opportunity." 

Her  husband  sighed.  He  had  heard  all  this  be 
fore.  Inwardly  he  wished  Mrs.  Black  at  Scarford, 
or  China,  or  anywhere,  provided  it  was  not  Trumet. 

40 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

His  wife  heard  the  sigh.  "There,  Daniel,"  she 
said;  "I  won't  be  complaining.  I  try  not  to  be. 
But,"  she  hesitated,  "there  is  one  thing  I'd  like  to 
ask,  now  that  we've  got  your  Aunt  Lavinia's  three 
thousand:  Don't  you  suppose  I  could  have 
some  new  clothes;  I  need  at  least  two  dresses  right 
away." 

"Why — why,  I  guess  likely  you  could,  Serena. 
Yes,  course  you  can.  You  go  see  Sarah  Loveland 
right  off." 

Miss  Loveland  was  the  Trumet  dressmaker.  At 
the  mention  of  her  name  Serena  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  want  Sarah  to  make  them,  Daniel,"  she 
said.  "Mrs.  Black  says  the  things  she  makes  are 
awful  old-fashioned;  'country,'  she  calls  them." 

Daniel  snorted.  "I  want  to  knowl"  he  exclaimed. 
"Well,  I  remember  her  husband  when  his  ma  used 
to  make  his  clothes  out  of  his  dad's  old  ones.  I 
don't  know  whether  they  was  'country'  or  not,  but 
they  were  the  dumdest  things  ever  7  saw.  Country, 
huh!  Scarf ord  ain't  any  Paris,  is  it?  I  never  heard 
it  was." 

"Well,  it  isn't  Trumet.  No,  Daniel,  if  we  could 
afford  it,  I'd  like  to  have  these  dresses  made  up  in 
Boston,  where  Gertie  gets  hers.  Mrs.  Black  often 
speaks  of  Gertie's  gowns;  she  says  they  are  remark 
ably  stylish,  considering." 

"Considerin' 7     What  does  she  mean  by  that?" 

"Don't  be  cross.  I  suppose  she  meant  consider 
ing  that  they  were  not  as  expensive  as  her  own.  Do 
you  suppose  I  could  go  to  that  Boston  dressmaker, 
Daniel?" 

Captain  Dan's  reply  was  slow  in  coming.     He 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

hated  to  say  no;  in  fact,  he  said  it  so  seldom  that 
he  scarcely  knew  how.  So  he  temporized. 

"Well,  Serena,"  he  began,  "I— I'd  like  to  have 
you;  you  know  that.  If  'twasn't  for  the  cost  I 
wouldn't  hesitate  a  minute." 

"But  we  have  that  three  thousand  dollars." 

"Well,  we  ain't  got  all  of  it.  Or  we  shan't  have 
it  long.  I  was  footin'  up  what  I  owed — what  the 
store  owes,  I  mean — just  now,  and  it  come  to  a 
pretty  high  figure.  Over  twelve  hundred,  it  was. 
That's  got  to  be  paid.  Then  there's  Gertie's  school- 
in'  and  her  board.  Course,  I  never  tell  her  we  ain't 
so  well  off  as  we  were.  You  and  I  agreed  she 
shouldn't  know.  But  it  takes  a  lot  of  money  and — " 

Mrs.  Dott  sat  up  on  the  couch.  Her  eyes  snapped. 
"Oh!"  she  cried;  "money!  money!  money!  It's  al 
ways  money!  If  only  just  once  I  had  all  the  money 
I  wanted,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy.  If  I  wouldn't 
go  it!" 

Steps  sounded  on  the  front  porch,  and  the  patent 
door  bell  clicked  and  clanged. 


CHAPTER    III 

NEXT  morning  an  astonishing  rumor  began 
to  circulate  through  Trumet.  It  spread 
with  remarkable  quickness,  and,  as  it 
spread,  it  grew.  The  Dotts  had  inherited  money! 
The  Dotts  were  rich  I  The  Dotts  were  millionaires ! 
Captain  Daniel's  brother  had  died  and  left  him 
fifty  thousand  dollars !  His  brother's  wife  had  died 
and  left  him  a  hundred  thousand!  It  was  not  his 
brother's  wife,  but  Serena's  uncle  who  had  died, 
and  the  inheritance  was  two  hundred  and  fifty  thou 
sand  at  least.  By  the  time  the  story  reached  Tru 
met  Neck  it  seemed  to  be  fairly  certain  that  all  the 
Dott  relatives  on  both  sides  of  the  house  had  passed 
away,  leaving  the  sole  survivors  of  the  family  all 
the  money  and  property  in  the  world,  with  a  few 
trifling  exceptions. 

Captain  Dan,  coming  in  for  dinner, — one  must 
eat,  or  try  to  eat,  even  though  the  realities  of  life 
have  been  blown  away,  and  one  is  moving  in  a  sort 
of  dream,  with  the  fear  of  awakening  always  pres 
ent — Captain  Dan,  coming  into  the  house  for  din 
ner,  expressed  his  opinion  of  Trumet  gossip  mon 
gers. 

"My  heavens  and  earth,  Serena!"  he  cried,  sink 
ing  into  his  chair  at  the  table,  "am  I  me,  or  some 
body  else?  Do  I  know  what  I'm  doin'  or  what's 
happened  to  me,  or  don't  I?" 

43 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Serena,  a  transformed,  flushed,  excited  Serena, 
beamed  at  him  across  the  table. 

"I  should  hope  you  did,  Daniel,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  if  /  do,  then  nobody  else  does,  and  if  they 
do,  I  don't.  I've  heard  of  more  dead  relations  this 
forenoon  than  I  ever  had  alive.  And  yarns  about 
'em!  and  about  you  and  me!  My  soul  and  body! 
Say,  did  you  know  you  had  a  cousin-in-law  in  Call' 
forny?"  ' 

"I?     In  California?    Nonsense!" 

"No  nonsense  about  it.  You  had  one  and  he 
was  a  lunatic  or  a  epileptic  or  an  epizootic  or  some- 
thin',  and  lived  in  a  hospital  or  a  palace  or  a  jail, 
and  he  was  worth  four  millions  or  forty,  I  forget 
which,  and  fell  out  of  an  automobile  or  out  of  a 
balloon  or  out  of  bed — anyhow,  it  killed  him — 
and " 

"Daniel  Dott!    Don't  talk  so  idiotic!" 

"Humph!  that's  nothin'  to  the  idiocy  that's  been 
talked  to  me  this  forenoon.  I've  done  nothin'  for 
the  last  hour  but  say  'No'  to  folks  that  come  tearin' 
in  to  unload  lies  and  ask  questions.  And  some  of 
'em  was  people  you'd  expect  to  have  common  sense, 
too.  My  head's  kind  of  wobbly  this  mornin',  after 
the  shock  that  hit  it  last  night,  but  it's  a  regular 
Dan'l  Webster's  alongside  the  general  run  of  heads 
in  this  town.  Aunt  Laviny's  will  has  turned  Tru- 
met  into  an  asylum,  and  the  patients  are  all  runnin' 
loose." 

"But  what  foolishness  was  that  about  a  cousin  in 
California?" 

"  'Twa'n't  foolishness,  I  tell  you.  You  ask  any 
one  of  a  dozen  folks  you  meet  outside  the  post- 
44 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

office  now,  and  they'll  all  tell  you  you  had  one. 
They  might  not  agree  whether  'twas  a  cousin  or  a 
grandmother  or  a  step-child,  or  whether  it  lived  in 
Californy  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  but  they  all 
know  it's  dead  now,  and  we've  got  anywheres  from 
a  postage  stamp  to  a  hogshead  of  diamonds.  Se 
rena,  if  you  hear  yells  for  help  this  afternoon,  don't 
pay  any  attention.  It'll  only  mean  that  my  patience 
has  run  out  and  I'm  tryin'  to  make  this  community 
short  one  devilish  fool  at  least.  There'll  be  enough 
left;  he'll  never  be  missed." 

"Daniel,  I  never  saw  you  so  worked  up.  You 
must  expect  people  to  be  excited.  I'm  excited  my 
self." 

The  captain  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  napkin. 
"I  ain't  exactly  a  graven  image,  now  that  you 
mention  it,"  he  admitted.  "But  you  and  I 
have  got  some  excuse  and  they  ain't.  Haven't 
they  been  in  to  see  you;  or  did  you  lock  the 
doors?" 

"I  have  had  callers,  of  course.  Mrs.  Berry  was 
here,  and  Mrs.  Tripp,  and  the  Cahoon  girls,  and 
Issachar  Eldredge's  wife.  The  first  four  pretended 
they  came  on  lodge  business,  and  the  Eldredge 
woman  to  get  my  recipe  for  chocolate  doughnuts; 
but,  of  course,  1  knew  what  they  really  came  for. 
Daniel,  how  do  you  suppose  the  news  got  out  so 
soon?  I  didn't  tell  a  soul  and  you  promised  you 
Wouldn't." 

"I  didn't,  neither.  Probably  that  lawyer  man 
dropped  a  hint  down  at  the  Manonquit  House,  and 
that  set  things  goin'.  Just  heave  over  one  seed  of  a 
yarn  in  most  any  hotel  or  boardin'  house  and  you'll 

45 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  a  crop  of  lies  next  mornin'  that  would  load  a 
three-master.  They  come  up  in  the  night,  like  toad 
stools." 

"But  you  didn't  tell  anyone  how  much  your  Aunt 
Lavinia  left  us?" 

"You  bet  I  didn't.  I  told  'em  I  didn't  know  yet. 
I  was  cal'latin'  to  hire  a  couple  of  dozen  men  and 
a  boy  to  count  it,  and  soon's  the  job  was  finished 
I'd  get  out  a  proclamation.  What  did  you  tell  your 
gang?" 

"I  simply  said,"  Serena  unconsciously  drew  her 
self  up  and  spoke  with  a  gracious  dignity;  "I  said 
they  might  quote  me  as  saying  it  was  not  a  million." 

Azuba  entered  from  the  kitchen,  heaving  a  steam 
ing  platter. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  setting  the  dish  before 
her  employers;  "I  don't  know  as  clam  fritters  are 
what  rich  folks  ought  to  eat,  but  I  done  the  best  I 
could.  I'm  so  shook  up  and  trembly  this  day  it's  a 
mercy  I  didn't  fry  the  platter." 

Yes,  something  had  happened  to  the  Dotts,  some 
thing  vastly  more  wonderful  and  surprising  than 
falling  heir  to  three  thousand  dollars  and  a  silver 
tea-pot.  When  Captain  Daniel  shut  up  the  Metro 
politan  Store  the  previous  evening  and  started  for 
the  house,  the  bearer  of  the  great  news  was  on  his 
way  from  the  Manonquit  House,  where  he  had  had 
supper.  When  Serena  bewailed  her  fate  and  ex 
pressed  a  desire  for  an  opportunity,  he  was  almost 
at  the  front  gate,  and  the  ring  of  the  bell  which  in 
terrupted  her  conversation  with  her  husband  was 
the  signal  that  Opportunity,  in  the  person  of  Mr. 
Glenn  Farwell,  Junior,  newest  member  of  the  firm 

46 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

of  Shepley  and  Farwell,  attorneys,  of  Boston,  was 
at  the  door. 

Mr.  Farwell  was  spruce  and  brisk  and  business 
like;  also  he  was  young,  a  fact  which  he  tried  to 
conceal  by  a  rather  feeble  beard,  and  much  profes 
sional  dignity  of  manner  and  expression.  Occasion 
ally,  in  the  heat  of  conversation,  he  forgot  the  dig 
nity;  the  beard  he  never  forgot.  Shown  into  the 
Dott  sitting-room  by  Azuba,  who,  as  usual,  had 
neglected  to  remove  her  kitchen  apron,  he  bowed 
politely  and  inquired  if  he  had  the  pleasure  of  ad 
dressing  Captain  and  Mrs.  Daniel  Abner  Dott.  The 
captain  assured  him  that  he  had.  Serena  was  too 
busy  glaring  at  the  apron  and  its  wearer  to  remem 
ber  etiquette. 

"Won't  you — won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  er — er — " 
began  the  captain. 

Mr.  Farwell  introduced  himself,  and  sat  down,  as 
requested.  After  a  glance  about  the  room,  which 
took  in  the  upright  piano — purchased  second-hand 
when  Gertrude  first  -began  her  music  lessons — the 
what-not,  with  its  array  of  shells,  corals,  miniature 
ships  in  bottles,  and  West  Indian  curiosities,  and  the 
crayon  enlargement  over  the  mantel  of  Captain 
Solon  Dott,  Daniel's  grandfather,  he  proceeded  di 
rectly  to  business. 

"Captain  Dott,"  he  said,  addressing  that  gentle 
man,  but  bowing  politely  to  Serena  to  indicate  that 
she  was  included  in  the  question,  "you  received  a 
letter  from  our  firm  about  a  week  ago,  did  you  not?" 

Captain  Dan,  who  had  scarcely  recovered  from 
his  surprise  at  his  caller's  identity,  shook  his  head. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  stammered,  "I — I  only 

47 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

got  it  to-day.  It  came  all  right,  that  is,  it  got  as 
far  as  the  postoffice,  but  the  postmaster,  he  handed 
it  over  to  Balaam  Hamilton,  to  bring  to  me.  Well, 
Balaam  is — well,  his  underpinning  all  right;  he 
wears  a  number  eleven  shoe — but  his  top  riggin'  is 
kind  of  lackin'  in  spots.  You'd  understand  if 
you  knew  him.  He  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket 
and " 

"Mercy  I"  cut  in  Serena,  impatiently,  "what  do 
you  suppose  Mr.  Farwell  cares  about  Balaam  Ham 
ilton?  He  forgot  the  letter,  Mr.  Farwell,  and  we 
only  got  it  this  morning.  That  is  why  it  hasn't  been 
answered.  What  about  the  letter?" 

The  visitor  did  not  answer  directly.  "I  see,"  he 
said.  "That  letter  informed  you  that  Mrs.  Lavinia 
Dott — your  aunt,  Captain, — was  dead,  and  that  we, 
her  legal  representatives,  having,  as  we  supposed, 
her  will  in  our  possession,  and  being  in  charge  of 
her  affairs " 

Mrs.  Dott  interrupted.  Her  excitement  had  been 
growing  ever  since  she  learned  the  visitor's  name 
and,  although  her  husband  did  not  notice  the  pecu 
liar  phrasing  of  the  lawyer's  sentence,  she  did. 

"As  you  supposed?"  she  repeated.  "You  did 
have  the  will,  didn't  you?" 

"We  had  a  will,  one  which  Mrs.  Dott  drew  some 
eight  or  nine  years  ago.  But  we  received  word 
from  Italy  only  yesterday  that  there  was  another, 
a  much  more  recent  one,  which  superseded  the  one 
in  our  possession.  Of  course,  that  being  the  case, 
the  bequests  in  the  former  were  not  binding  upon 
the  estate.  That  is  to  say,  our  will  was  not  a  will 
at  all." 

48 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Serena  gasped.  She  looked  at  her  husband,  and 
he  at  her. 

"Then  we — then  she  didn't  leave  us  the  three 
thousand  dollars?"  she  cried. 

"Or — or  the  tea-pot?"  faltered  Captain  Dan. 

Mr.  Farwell  smiled.  He  was  having  consider 
able  fun  out  of  the  situation.  However,  it  would 
not  do  to  keep  possibly  profitable  clients  in  suspense 
too  long,  so  he  broke  the  news  he  had  journeyed 
from  Boston  to  impart. 

"She  left  you  a  great  deal  more  than  that,"  he 
said.  "In  the  former  will,  her  cousin,  Mr.  Percy 
Hungerford  of  Scarford,  was  the  principal  legatee. 
He  was  a  favorite  of  hers,  I  believe,  and  she  left 
the  bulk  of  her  property — some  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  dollars  in  securities,  and  her  estate  at  Scar- 
ford — to  him.  But  last  February  it  appears  that 
he  and  she  had  a  falling  out.  He — Mr.  Hunger- 
ford — is,  so  I  am  told,  a  good  deal  of  a  sport — 
ahem !  that  is,  he  is  a  young  gentleman  of  fashion 
able  and  expensive  tastes,  and  he  wrote  his  aunt, 
asking  for  money,  rather  frequently.  The  Febru 
ary  letter  reached  her  when  she  was  grouchy — er — 
not  well,  I  mean,  and  she  changed  her  will,  prac 
tically  disinheriting  him.  Under  the  new  will  he  re 
ceives  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  The  bal 
ance "  Mr.  Farwell,  who,  during  this  long  state 
ment,  had  interspersed  legal  dignity  of  term  with 
an  occasional  lapse  into  youthful  idiom,  now  spoke 
with  impressive  solemnity, — "the  balance,"  he  said, 
"one  hundred  thousand  in  money  and  securities,  and 
the  house  at  Scarford,  which  is  valued,  I  believe,  at 
thirty-five  thousand  more,  she  leaves  to  you,  as  her 

49 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

only  other  relative,  Captain  Dott.  I  am  here  to 
congratulate  you  and  to  offer  you  my  services  and 
those  of  the  firm,  should  you  desire  legal  advice." 

Having  sprung  his  surprise,  Mr.  Farwell  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  to  enjoy  the  effect  of  the  explosion. 
The  first  effect  appeared  to  be  the  complete  stupe 
faction  of  his  hearers.  Those  which  followed  were 
characteristic. 

"My  soul  and  body!"  gasped  Captain  Dan.  "I — 
I — my  land  of  love!  And  only  this  mornin'  I  was 
scared  I  couldn't  pay  my  store  bills!" 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars!"  cried  Serena. 
"And  that  beautiful  house  at  Scarf ord  1  Ours!  Oh  1 
oh!  oh!" 

Mr.  Farwell  crossed  his  knees.  "A  very  hand 
some  little  windfall,"  he  observed,  with  condescen 
sion. 

"We  get  a  hundred  thousand!"  murmured  the 
captain.  "My!  I  wish  Father  was  alive  to  know 
about  it.  But,  say,  it's  kind  of  rough  on  that  young 
Hungerford,  after  expectin'  so  much,  ain't  it  now!" 

"A  hundred  thousand!"  breathed  his  wife,  her 
hands  clasped.  "And  that  lovely  house !  Why,  we 
could  move  to  Scarford  to-morrow  if  we  wanted  to ! 
Yes,  and  live  there  !  Oh — oh,  Daniel  I  I — I  don't 
know  why  I'm  doing  it,  but  I — I  believe  I'm  going 
to  cry." 

Her  husband  rushed  over  to  the  couch  and  threw 
his  arm  about  her  shoulder. 

"Go  ahead,  old  lady,"  he  commanded.  "Cry,  if 
you  want  to.  I — I'm  goin'  to  do  somethin'  darn 
ridiculous,  myself!" 

Thus  it  was  that  Fortune  and  Opportunity  came 

50 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

to  the  Dott  door,  and  it  was  the  news  of  the  visita 
tion,  distorted  and  exaggerated,  which  set  all  Tru- 
met  by  the  ears  next  day. 

Azuba's  clam  fritters  were  neglected  that  noon, 
just  as  breakfast  had  been.  Neither  Captain  Dan 
nor  his  wife  had  slept,  and  they  could  not  cat.  They 
pretended  to,  they  even  tried  to,  but  one  or  the  other 
was  certain  to  break  out  with  an  exclamation  or  a 
wondering  surmise,  and  the  meal  was,  as  the  cap 
tain  said,  "all  talk  and  no  substantials."  They  had 
scarcely  risen  from  the  table  when  the  doorbell  rang. 

Azuba  heard  it  and  made  her  entrance  from  the 
kitchen.  She  had  remembered  this  time  to  shed  the 
offending  apron,  but  she  carried  it  in  her  hand. 

"I'm  a-goin',''  she  declared;  "I'm  a-goin',  soon's 
ever  I  can." 

She  started  for  the  sitting-room,  but  the  captain 
stepped  in  front  of  her. 

"You  stay  right  where  you  are,"  he  ordered. 
"I'll  answer  that  bell  myself  this  time." 

"Daniel,"  cried  his  wife,  "what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"Do?  I'm  goin'  to  head  off  some  more  fools, 
that's  what  I'm  goin'  to  do.  They  shan't  get  in 
here  to  pester  you  to  death  with  questions,  not  if  I 
can  help  it." 

"But,  Daniel,  you  mustn't.  You  don't  know  who 
it  may  be." 

"I  don't  care." 

"Oh,  dear  me!  What  are  you  going  to  say? 
You  mustn't  insult  people." 

"I  shan't  insult  'em.  I'll  tell  'em— I'll  tell  'em 
you're  sick  and  can't  see  anybody." 

51 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"But  I'm  not  sick." 

"Then,  I  am,"  said  Captain  Dan.  "They  make 
me  sick.  Shut  up,  will  you?"  addressing  the  bell, 
which  had  rung  the  second  time.  "I'll  come  when 
I  get  ready." 

He  seemed  to  be  quite  ready  that  very  moment. 
At  all  events  he  strode  from  the  room,  and  his  anx 
ious  wife  and  the  flushed  Azuba  heard  him  tramp 
ing  through  the  front  hall. 

"What — what  is  he  going  to  do?"  faltered  Se 
rena;  "or  say?" 

Azuba  shook  her  head.  "Land  knows!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "I  ain't  seen  him  this  way  since  the  weasel 
got  into  the  hen-house.  He  went  for  that  with  the 
hoe-handle.  And  as  for  what  he  said!  Well,  don't 
talk  to  me!" 

But  no  riot  or  verbal  explosion  followed  the  open 
ing  of  the  door.  The  anxious  listeners  in  the  dining- 
room  heard  voices,  but  they  were  subdued  ones.  A 
moment  later  Captain  Dan  returned.  He  looked 
troubled. 

"It's  Barney  Black  and  his  wife,"  he  answered, 
in  a  whisper.  "I  couldn't  tell  them  to  go  to  thunder. 
They're  in  the  front  room,  waitin'.  I  suppose  we'll 
have  to  see  'em,  won't  we?" 

Mrs.  Dott  was  hurriedly  shaking  the  wrinkles 
out  of  her  gown  and  patting  her  hair  into  present 
able  shape. 

"See  'em!"  she  repeated.  "Of  course  we'll  see 
them.  I  declare !  I  think  it's  real  kind  of  'em  to 
call.  Daniel,  do  fix  }~jr  necktie.  It's  way  round 
under  your  ear." 

They  entered  the  parlor^  Serena,  outwardly  calm, 
52 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

in  the  lead  and  her  husband  following,  and  tugging 
at  the  refractory  tie. 

Mrs.  and  Mr.  Black — scanning  them  in  the  order 
of  their  importance — rose  as  they  appeared.  Mrs. 
Black  was  large  and  impressive,  and  gorgeous  to 
view.  She  did  not  look  her  age.  Her  husband  was 
not  as  tall  as  his  wife,  and  did  not  look  his  height. 
Annette  swept  forward. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dott,"  she  gushed,  taking 
Serena's  hand  in  her  own  gloved  one.  "We've  just 
heard  the  news,  Phelps  and  I,  and  we  couldn't  resist 
dropping  in  to  congratulate  you.  Isn't  it  wonder 
ful!" 

Serena  admitted  that  it  was  wonderful.  "We  can 
hardly  believe  it  yet,  ourselves,"  she  said.  "But  it 
was  real  nice  of  you  to  come.  Do  sit  down  again, 
won't  you?  Daniel,  get  Mr.  Black  a  chair." 

Captain  Dan  and  Mr.  Black  shook  hands.  "Sit 
down  anywhere,  Barney,"  said  the  former.  "Any 
where  but  that  rocker,  I  mean;  that's  got  a  squeak 
in  the  leg." 

Mr.  Black,  who  had  headed  for  the  rocker, 
changed  his  course  and  sank  into  an  arm  chair. 
The  shudder  with  which  his  wife  heard  the  word 
"Barney,"  and  the  glare  with  which  Serena 
favored  her  husband,  were  entirely  lost  upon  the 
latter. 

"We  had  that  rocker  up  in  the  attic  till  last 
month,"  he  observed;  "but  Serena  found  out  'twas 
an  antique,  and  antiques  seem  to  be  all  the  go  now- 
a-days,  though  you  do  have  to  be  careful  of  'em. 
I  suppose  it's  all  right.  We'll  be  antiques  ourselves 
before  many  years,  and  we'll  want  folks  to  be  care- 

53 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

ful  of  us.     Hey?     Ha!  ha!  ...  Why,  what's  the 
matter,  Serena?" 

Mrs.  Dott  replied,  rather  sharply,  that  "nothing 
was  the  matter." 

"The  rocker  isn't  very  strong,"  she  explained,  ad 
dressing  Mrs.  Black.  "But  it  belonged  to  my  great 
— that  is,  it  has  been  in  our  family  for  a  good  many 
years  and  we  think  a  great  deal  of  it." 

Mrs.  Black  condescendingly  expressed  her  opin 
ion  that  the  rocker  was  a  "dear." 

"I  love  old-fashioned  things,"  she  said.  "So  does 
Mr.  Black.  Don't  you,  Phelps?" 

"Yes,"  replied  that  gentleman.  His  love  did  not 
appear  to  be  over-enthusiastic. 

"But  do  tell  us  about  your  little  legacy,"  went  on 
the  lady.  "Of  course  we  have  heard  all  sorts  of 
ridiculous  stories,  but  we  know  better  than  to  believe 
them.  Why,  we  even  heard  that  you  were  worth 
a  million.  Naturally,  that  was  absurd,  wasn't  it? 
Ha!  ha!" 

Captain  Dan  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  but  his 
wife  flashed  a  glance  in  his  direction,  and  he  closed 
it  again. 

"Yes,"  said  Serena,  addressing  Mrs.  Black,  "that 
was  absurd,  of  course." 

"So  I  told  Phelps.  I  said  that  the  way  in  which 
these  country  pe9ple  exaggerated  such  things  was 
too  funny  for  anything.  Why,  we  heard  that  your 
cousin  had  died — that  is,  /  heard  it  was  a  cousin; 
Phelps  heard  it  was  an  uncle.  An  uncle  was  what 
you  heard,  wasn't  it,  Phelps?" 

"Yes,"  said  Phelps.  It  was  his  second  contri 
bution  to  the  conversation. 

54 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"So,"  went  on  Mrs.  Black,  "we  didn't  know  which 
it  was." 

She  paused,  smilingly  expectant.  Again  Captain 
Dan  started  to  speak,  and  again  a  look  from  his 
wife  caused  him  to  change  his  mind.  Before  he  had 
quite  recovered,  Mrs.  Black,  who  may  have  noticed 
the  look,  had  turned  to  him. 

"Wasn't  it  funny.!"  she  gushed.  "I  don't  wonder 
you  laugh.  Here  was  I  saying  it  was  a  cousin  and 
Phelps  declaring  it  was  an  uncle.  It  was  so  odd 
and  so  like  this  funny  little  town.  Do  tell  us ;  which 
was  it,  really,  Captain  Dott?" 

Daniel,  staggering  before  this  point  blank  at 
tack,  hesitated.  "Why,"  he  stammered,  "it  was — 
it  was "  He  looked  appealingly  at  Serena. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  Mrs.  Black?"  inquired 
his  wife,  rather  sharply. 

"It  was  my  Aunt  Laviny,"  said  the  captain. 

Mrs.  Black  nodded  and  smiled. 

"Oh!  your  aunt!"  she  exclaimed.  "There!  isn't 
that  funny!  And  so  characteristic  of  Trumet. 
Neither  an  uncle  nor  a  cousin,  but  an  aunt.  What 
did  you  say  her  name  was?" 

"Laviny?" 

"Yes,  I  know.  Laviny — what  an  odd  name!  I 
don't  think  I  ever  heard  it  before.  Was  the  rest 
of  it  as  odd  as  that?" 

Serena,  who  had  been  fidgeting  in  her  chair,  cut 
in  here. 

"It  wasn't  Laviny  at  all,"  she  said.  "That  is  only 
Daniel's  way  of  pronouncing  it.  It  is  what  he  used 
to  call  her  when  he  was  a  child.  A — a  sort  of  pet 
name,  you  know." 

5? 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Why,  Serena!  how  you  talk!  She  never  had 
any  pet  name,  far's  I  ever  heard.  You  might  as 
well  give  a  pet  name  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 
She " 

"Hush!  it  doesn't  make  any  difference.  Her 
name,  Mrs.  Black,  was  Lavinia.  She  was  Mrs.  La- 
vinia  Dott,  and  her  husband  was  James  Dott,  Dan 
iel's  father's  brother.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you 
knew  her.  She  has  spent  most  of  her  time  in  Europe 
lately,  but  her  home,  her  American  home,  was  where 
you  live,  in  Scarford." 

This  statement  caused  a  marked  sensation.  Mrs. 
Black  gasped  audibly,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 
B.  Phelps  evinced  his  first  sign  of  interest. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Mrs.  Lavinia  Dott,  of 
Scarford?  You  don't  say!  Why,  of  course  we 
knew  her;  that  is,  we  knew  who  she  was.  Every 
body  in  Scarford  did.  Her  place  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  town." 

Serena  bowed.  Life,  for  her,  had  not  offered 
many  sweeter  moments  than  this. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  calmly,  "so  we  understand.  The 
place — er — that  is,  the  estate — is  a  part — "  she  em 
phasized  the  word — "a  part  of  what  she  left  to  my 
husband." 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Black.  His  wife 
said  nothing,  but  her  face  was  a  study. 

Captain  Dan  crossed  his  knees. 

"I  remember  seein'  that  place  after  Uncle  Jim 
first  built  it,"  he  observed,  reminiscently.  "I  tell 
you  it  looked  big  enough  to  me !  I  was  only  a 
young  feller,  just  begun  goin'  to  sea,  and  that  house 
looked  big  as  a  town  hall,  you  might  say.  Ho !  ho  I 

56 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

when  I  got  inside  and  was  sittin'  in  the  front  parlor, 
I  declare  I  was  all  feet  and  hands!  didn't  know 
what  to  do  with  'em.  .  .  .  Hey?  did  you  speak, 
Serena?" 

"I  was  only  going  to  say,"  replied  his  wife,  "that 
that  was  a  good  while  ago,  of  course.  You  have 
been  about  the  world  and  seen  a  great  deal  since. 
Things  look  different  after  we  grow  up,  don't  they, 
Mrs.  Black?" 

Annette's  composure,  a  portion  of  it,  had  returned 
by  this  time.  Nevertheless,  there  was  an  odd  note 
in  her  voice. 

"They  do,  indeed,"  she  said.  "I  remember  the 
Dott  house,  of  course.  It  was  very  fine,  I  believe, 
in  its  day." 

Her  husband  interrupted.  "In  its  day!"  he  re 
peated.  "Humph!  there's  nothing  the  matter  with 
it  now,  that  I  can  see.  I  wish  I  had  as  good. 
Why " 

"Phelps!"  snapped  Annette,  "don't  be  silly.  Mrs. 
Dott  understands  what  I  meant  to  say.  The  place 
is  very  nice,  very  attractive,  indeed.  Perhaps  some 
might  think  it  a  bit  old-fashioned,  but  that  is  a  mat 
ter  of  taste." 

"Humph!  it's  on  the  best  street  in  town.  As  for 
being  old-fashioned — I  thought  you  just  said  you 
loved  old-fashioned  things.  That's  what  she  said, 
wasn't  it,  Dan?" 

Mrs.  Black's  gloved  fingers  twitched,  but  she  ig 
nored  the  remark  entirely.  Daniel,  too,  did  not 
answer,  although  he  smiled  in  an  uncertain  fashion. 
It  was  Serena  who  spoke. 

"I  haven't  any  doubt  it  is  lovely,"  she  said. 
57 


"We're  just  dying  to  see  it,  Daniel  and  I.  I  hope 
you  can  be  with  us  when  we  do,  Mrs.  Black.  You 
might  suggest  some  improvements,  you  know." 

"Improvements !"  the  visitor  repeated  the  word 
involuntarily.  "Improvements !  You're  not  going 
to  live  there,  are  you?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  may.  Now,  Daniel,  don't 
argue.  You  know  we  haven't  made  up  our  minds 
yet  what  we  shall  do.  And  Scarford  is  a  beautiful 
city.  Mrs.  Black  has  told  us  so  ever  so  many  times. 
What  were  you  going  to  say,  Mrs.  Black?" 

The  lady  addressed  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to 
say  several  things,  particularly  to  her  husband,  who 
was  grinning  maliciously.  But  what  she  did  was  to 
smile,  a  smile  of  gracious  sweetness,  and  agree  that 
Scarford  was  beautiful. 

"And  so  is  the  place,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dott,"  she 
added.  "A  very  charming,  quaint  old  house.  But — - 
you'll  excuse  my  saying  so,  won't  you;  you  know 
Phelps  and  I  have  had  some  experience  in  keeping 
up  a  city  estate — don't  you  think  it  might  prove 
rather  expensive  for  you  to  maintain?" 

Serena's  armor  was  not  even  dented.  "Oh,"  she 
said,  lightly,  "that  wouldn't  trouble  us,  I'm  sure. 
Really,  we've  hardly  thought  of  the  expense.  The 
Scarford  place  wasn't  all  that  Aunt  Lavinia  left  us, 
Mrs.  Black." 

"Indeed!"  rather  feebly,  "wasn't  it?" 

"My  goodness,  no !  But  there !  I  mustn't  talk 
about  ourselves  and  our  affairs  any  more.  Have 
you  seen  the  lodge  rooms  to-day?  I  must  find  time 
to  run  down  there  this  afternoon  for  a  last  look 
around.  I  want  this  open  meeting  to  go  off  nicely. 

58 


CAPN    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Who  knows — well,  I  may  not  have  the  care  of  the 


next  one." 


Azuba  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"The  minister  and  his  wife's  comin',"  she  an 
nounced. 

Mrs.  Dott  turned. 

"The  minister  and  his  wife?"  she  repeated.  "The 
bell  hasn't  rung,  has  it?  How  do  you  know  they're 
coming  here?" 

"See  'em  through  the  window,"  replied  Azuba, 
cheerfully.  "They  was  at  the  gate  quite  a  spell. 
She  was  gettin'  her  hat  straight,  and  he  was  helpin' 
her.  Here  they  be,"  as  the  callers'  footsteps  sounded 
on  the  porch.  "Shall  I  let  'em  in?" 

"Let  them  in  I  Why,  of  course  1  Why  shouldn't 
you  let  them  in?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  know.  The  way  the  cap'n  was 
talkin'  when  you  was  havin'  dinner,  I  thought — oh, 
that  reminds  me,"  addressing  the  horror  stricken 
Daniel,  "Sam  was  in  just  now  and  wanted  you  to 
come  right  out  to  the  store.  Ezra  Taylor's  there 
and  he  wants  another  pair  of  them  checkered  over 
alls,  same  as  he  had  afore." 

That  evening  when,  having  closed  the  Metropoli 
tan  Store  at  an  early  hour,  the  captain  and  his  wife 
were  on  their  way  to  the  lodge  meeting,  Daniel 
voiced  a  feeling  of  perplexity  which  had  disturbed 
his  mind  ever  since  the  Blacks'  call. 

"Say,  Serena,"  he  asked,  "ain't  you  and  Barney 
Black's  wife  friends  any  more?" 

"Why,  of  course  we're  friends.  What  a  ques 
tion  that  is." 

59 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Humph  1  didn't  seem  to  me  you  acted  much  like 
friends  this  afternoon.  Slappin'  each  other  back 
and  forth " 

"Slappin'  each  other!  Have  you  lost  your  brains 
altogether?  What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  don't  mean  slappin'  each  other  side  of  the 
head.  'Tain't  likely  I  meant  that.  But  the  way 
you  talked  to  each  other — and  the  way  you  looked. 
And  when  'twa'n't  her  it  was  me.  She  as  much  as 
asked  you  four  or  five  times  who  it  was  that  had 
died  and  you  wouldn't  tell,  so,  of  course,  I  supposed 
you  didn't  want  to.  And  yet,  when  she  asked  me 
and  I  was  backin'  and  fillin',  tryin'  to  get  off  the 
shoals,  you  barked  out  why  didn't  I  'answer  her'? 
That  may  be  sense,  but  I  don't  see  it,  myself.'' 

Serena  laughed  and  squeezed  his  arm  with  her 
own. 

"Did  I  bark?"  she  asked.  "I'm  sorry;  I  didn't 
mean  to.  But  it  did  make  me  cross  to  have  her 
come  sailing  in,  in  that  high  and  mighty  way " 

"It's  the  same  way  she  always  sails.  I  never  saw 
her  when  she  didn't  act  as  if  she  was  the  only  clipper 
in  the  channel  and  small  craft  better  get  out  from 
under  her  bows." 

"I  know,  you  never  did  like  her,  although  she 
has  been  so  kind  and  nice  to  me  and  to  Gertrude. 
Why,  we,  and  the  minister's  family,  and  Doctor 
Bradstreet's  people,  are  the  only  ones,  except  the 
summer  folks,  that  she  has  anything  to  do  with." 

The  captain  muttered  that  he  knew  it  but  that 
that  didn't  make  him  like  her  any  better.  His  wife 
continued. 

"I  was  a  little  put  out  by  her  to-day,"  she  ad- 

60 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

mitted.  "You  see,  she  was  so  anxious  to  find  out 
things,  and  so  sure  we  couldn't  be  very  rich,  and  so 
certain  we  couldn't  keep  up  Aunt  Lavinia's  big 
house,  that — that  I  just  had  to  give  her  as  good  as 
she  sent." 

Daniel  chuckled.  "You  did  that  all  right,"  he 
said. 

"But  I  wouldn't  hurt  her  feelings — really  hurt 
them — for  the  world.  I  like  her  and  admire  her, 
and  I  am  sure  she  likes  me." 

"Humph!  All  right;  only  next  time  you  get  to 
admirin'  each  other  I'm  goin'  out.  That  kind  of 
admiration  makes  me  nervous.  I  heard  you  ad 
mirin'  Zuba  out  in  the  kitchen  just  before  we  left." 

"Azuba  makes  me  awfully  out  of  patience.  She 
won't  do  what  I  tell  her;  she  will  wear  her  apron  to 
the  door;  she  will  talk  when  she  shouldn't.  Just 
think  what  she  said  about  you  when  the  minister 
called.  It  was  just  Providence,  and  nothing  else, 
that  kept  her  from  telling  the  Blacks  what  you  said 
and  how  you  acted  at  dinner.  That's  it — laugh! 
I  expected  you'd  think  it  was  funny." 

"Well,  I  give  in  that  it  does  seem  kind  of  funny 
to  me,  now,  though  it  didn't  when  she  started  to 
say  it.  But  you  can't  stop  Zuba  talkin'  any  more 
than  you  can  a  poll  parrot.  She  me?.ns  well;  she's 
awful  good-hearted — yes,  and  sensible,  too,  in  her 
way." 

"I  can't  help  it.  She's  got  to  learn  her  place. 
Just  think  of  having  her  up  there  at  Scarford,  be 
having  as  she  does." 

The  captain  caught  his  breath. 

"Scarford!"  he  repeated.  "At  Scarford!  Look 

61 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

here,  Serena,  what  are  you  talkin'  about?  You 
didn't  mean  what  you  said  to  that  Black  woman 
about  our  goin'  to  Scarf ord  to  live?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  didn't.  There !  there  I  don't 
get  excited.  I  don't  say  I  do  mean  it,  either.  Aunt 
Lavinia's  left  us  that  lovely  house,  hasn't  she? 
We've  got  it  on  our  hands,  haven't  we?  What  are 
we  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Why — why,  I — I  was  cal'latin'  we'd  probably 
sell  it,  maybe.  We've  got  our  own  place  here  in 
Trumet.  We  don't  want  two  places,  do  we?" 

"We  might  sell  this  one,  at  a  pinch.  No,  Daniel, 
I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  yet  awhile.  But, 
one  thing  I  am  sure  of — you  and  I  will  go  to  Scar- 
ford  and  look  at  that  house,  if  nothing  more.  Now, 
don't  argue,  please.  We're  almost  at  the  meeting. 
Be  sure  you  don't  tell  anyone  how  much  money 
we've  got  or  anything  about  it.  They'll  all  ask,  of 
course,  and  they'll  all  talk  about  us,  but  you  must 
expect  that.  Our  position  in  life  has  altered,  Dan 
iel,  and  rich  folks  are  always  looked  at  and  talked 
over.  Are  your  shoes  clean?  Did  you  bring  a 
handkerchief?  Be  sure  and  don't  applaud  too  much 
when  I'm  speaking,  because  last  time  I  was  told 
that  Abigail  Mayo  said  if  she  was  married  and  had 
a  husband  she  wouldn't  order  him  to  clap  his  hands 
half  off  every  time  his  wife  opened  her  mouth.  She 
isn't  married  and  ain't  likely  to  be,  but.  .  .  .  Oh, 
Mrs.  Black,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !  It's  real  lovely 
of  you  to  come  so  early." 

Daniel  Dott,  as  has  been  intimated,  did  not  share 
his  wife's  love  for  lodge  meetings.  He  attended 
them  because  she  did,  and  wished  him  to,  but  he  was 

62 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

not  happy  while  they  were  going  on.  At  this  one 
he  was  distinctly  unhappy.  He  saw  Serena  and  An 
nette  Black  exchange  greetings  as  if  the  little  fencing 
match  of  the  afternoon  had  been  but  an  exchange  of 
compliments.  He  saw  the  two  ladies  go,  arm  in 
arm,  to  the  platform,  where  sat  the  "Boston  dele 
gates."  He  nodded  to  masculine  acquaintances  in 
the  crowd,  other  captives  chained,  like  himself,  to 
their  wives'  and  daughters'  chariot  wheels.  He 
heard  the  applause  which  greeted  Serena's  opening 
speech  of  introduction.  He  heard  the  Boston  dele 
gates  speak,  and  Mrs.  Black's  gracious  response  to 
the  request  for  a  few  words  from  the  president  of 
our  Scarford  Chapter.  He  heard  it  all,  but,  when 
it  was  over,  he  could  not  have  repeated  a  sentence 
of  all  those  which  had  reached  his  ears. 

No,  Captain  Dan  was  not  happy  at  this,  the  most 
successful  "open  meeting"  ever  held  by  the  Trumet 
Chapter  of  the  Guild  of  Ladies  of  Honor.  He  was 
thinking,  and  thinking  hard.  Aunt  Lavinia's  will 
had  changed  their  position  in  life,  so  Serena  had 
said.  She  had  said  other  things,  also,  and  he  was 
beginning,  dimly,  to  realize  what  they  might  mean. 


CHAPTER    IV 

SCARFORD 1"  screamed  the  brakeman,  throw 
ing  open  the  car  door.  "Scarford!" 
Mrs.  Dott,  umbrella  in  hand,  was  already  in 
the  aisle.  Captain  Dan,  standing  between  the  seats, 
was  struggling  to  get  the  suitcase  down  from  the  rack 
above.  It  was  a  brand-new  suitcase.  Serena  had 
declared  that  their  other,  the  one  which  had  accom 
panied  them  on  various  trips  to  Boston  during  the 
past  eight  years,  was  altogether  too  shabby.  She 
had  insisted  on  buying  another,  and,  the  stock  in  the 
store  not  being  good  enough,  had  selected  this  her 
self  from  the  catalog  of  a  Boston  manufacturer. 
Her  umbrella,  silk  with  a  silver  handle,  was  new 
also.  So  was  her  hat,  her  gown  and  her  shoes.  So, 
too,  was  the  captain's  hat,  and  his  suit  and  light 
overcoat.  There  was  a  general  air  of  newness  about 
the  Dotts,  so  apparent,  particularly  on  Daniel's  part, 
that  various  passengers  had  nudged  each  other, 
winked,  and  whispered  surmises  concerning  re 
cent  marriage  and  a  honeymoon  trip. 

The  suitcase,  the  buckle  of  which  had  caught  in 
the  meshes  of  the  rack,  giving  way,  came  down  unex 
pectedly  and  with  a  thump  on  the  seat.  The  captain 
hurriedly  lifted  it.  A  stifled  laugh  from  the  occu 
pants  of  adjacent  seats  reached  Serena's  ears. 

64 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded  impatiently.  "Aren't 
you  coming?  Do  hurry." 

"I — I'm  comin',"  stammered  her  husband,  thrust 
ing  his  fist  into  the  new  hat  which,  as  it  lay  on  the 
seat,  had  received  the  weight  of  the  falling  suitcase. 
"I'm  comin'.  Go  ahead!  I'll  be  right  along." 

He  pounded  the  battered  "derby"  into  more  or 
less  presentable  shape,  clapped  it  on  his  head,  and, 
suitcase  in  hand,  followed  his  wife. 

Through  the  crowd  on  the  platform  they  passed, 
through  the  waiting  room  and  out  to  the  sidewalk. 
There  Captain  Dan  put  down  the  case,  gave  the 
maltreated  hat  a  brush  with  his  sleeve,  and  looked 
about  him. 

"Lively  place,  ain't  it,  Serena?"  he  observed. 
"Whew!  that  valise  is  heavy.  Well,  where's  the 
next  port  of  call?" 

"We'll  go  to  the  hotel  first.  Oh,  dear,  it's  a 
shame  things  happened  so  we  had  to  come  now.  In 
another  fortnight  the  Blacks  would  have  been  here 
and  we  could  have  gone  right  to  their  house.  Mrs. 
Black  felt  dreadfully  about  it.  She  said  so  ever  so 
many  times." 

The  captain  made  no  answer.  If  he  had  doubts 
concerning  the  depths  of  the  Blacks'  sorrow  he  kept 
them  to  himself.  Picking  up  the  suitcase,  he  stepped 
forward  to  the  curb. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  demanded  his  wife. 

"Why,  to  the  hotel.  That's  where  you  wanted  to 
go,  wasn't  it?" 

"Certainly;  but  how  were  you  going?  You  don't 
know  where  it  is." 

"No,  so  I  don't.    But  I  can  hail  one  of  those  elec- 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

tries  and  ask  the  conductor  to  stop  when  he  got  to  it- 
He'd  know  where  'twas,  most  likely." 

"Electric"  is  the  Down  East  term  for  trolley  car, 
lines  of  which  were  passing  and  repassing  the  sta 
tion.  Daniel  waved  his  disengaged  hand  to  the  con 
ductor  of  the  nearest.  The  car  stopped. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Serena  quickly.  "How  do 
you  know  that  car  is  going  the  right  way?" 

"Hey?    Well,  of  course  I  don't  know,  but " 

"Of  course  you  don't.  Besides,  we  don't  want  to 
go  in  an  electric.  We  must  take  a  carriage." 

"A  carriage?  A  hack,  you  mean.  What  do  we 
want  to  do  that  for?" 

"Because  it's  what  everyone  does." 

"No,  they  don't.  Look  at  all  the  folks  on  that 
electric  now.  Besides,  we " 

"Hi  there!"  shouted  the  conductor  of  the  car 
angrily.  "Brace  up!  Get  a  move  on,  will  you?" 

Mrs.  Dott  regarded  him  with  dignity. 

"We're  not  coming,"  she  said.  "You  can  go 
right  along." 

The  car  proceeded,  the  conductor  commenting 
freely  and  loudly,  and  the  passengers  on  the  broad 
grin. 

"Now,  Daniel,"  said  Serena,  "you  get  one  of  those 
carriages  and  we'll  go  as  we  ought  to.  I  know  we've 
always  gone  in  the  electrics  when  we  were  in  Boston, 
but  then  we  didn't  feel  as  if  we  could  afford  any 
thing  else.  Now  we  can.  And  don't  stop  to  bargain 
about  the  fare.  What  is  fifty  cents  more  or  less  to 
us?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head,  but  he  obeyed  orders. 
A  few  minutes  later  they  were  seated  in  a  cab,  drawn 

66 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

by  a  venerable  horse  and  driven  by  a  man  with  a 
hooked  nose,  and  were  moving  toward  the  Palatine 
House,  the  hostelry  recommended  by  Mrs.  Black  as 
the  finest  in  Scarford. 

"There!"  said  Serena,  leaning  back  against  the 
shabby  cushions,  "this  is  better  than  an  electric,  isn't 
it?  And  when  we  get  to  the  hotel  you'll  see  the 
difference  it  will  make  in  the  way  they  treat  us. 
Mrs.  Black  says  there  is  everything  in  a  first  im 
pression.  If  people  judge  by  your  looks  that  you're 
no  account  they'll  treat  you  that  way.  But  what 
were  you  and  the  driver  having  such  a  talk 
about?" 

Captain  Dan  grinned.  "I  got  the  name  of  the 
hotel  wrong  at  first,"  he  admitted.  "I  called  it  the 
Palestine  House  instead  of  the  other  thing.  The 
driver  thought  I  was  makin'  fun  of  him.  It  ain't 
safe  to  mention  Palestine  to  a  feller  with  a  nose 
like  that." 

The  Palatine  House  was  new  and  gorgeous;  built 
in  the  hope  of  attracting  touring  automobilists,  it 
was  that  dreary  mistake,  a  cheap  imitation  of  the 
swagger  metropolitan  article.  Scarford  was  not  a 
metropolis,  and  the  imitation  in  this  case  was  a  par 
ticularly  poor  one.  However,  to  the  Dotts,  its 
marble-floored  lobby  and  gilded  pillars  and  cornices 
were  grand  and  imposing.  Their  room  on  the  third 
floor  looked  out  upon  the  street  below,  and  if  the 
view  of  shops  and  signs  and  trucks  and  trolleys  was 
not  beautiful  it  was,  at  least,  distinctly  different  from 
any  view  in  Trumet. 

Serena  gloried  in  it. 

"Ahl"  she  sighed,  "this  is  something  like.  This* 
67 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

is  life!  There's  something  going  on  here,  Daniel. 
Don't  you  feel  it?" 

Daniel  was  counting  his  small  change. 

"What  say?"  he  asked. 

His  wife  repeated  her  question,  raising  her  voice 
to  carry  above  the  noises  of  the  street. 

"Feel  it!  Yes,  yes;  and  hear  it,  too.  How  we're 
ever  goin'  to  sleep  with  all  that  hullabaloo  outside 
I  don't  know.  Don't  you  suppose  we  could  get  a 
quieter  room  than  this,  Serena?" 

"I  don't  want  a  quiet  room.  I  don't  want  to  sleep. 
I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  asleep  all  my  life.  Now,  thank 
goodness,  I  am  where  people  are  really  awake. 
What  are  you  doing  with  that  money?" 

"Oh,  just  lookin'  at  it,  while  I  can.  I  shan't  have 
the  chance  very  long,  if  the  other  folks  in  this  town 
are  like  that  hack  driver.  A  dollar  to  drive  half  a 
mile  HI  that  hearse  !  Why,  the  whole  shebang  wa'n't 
worth  more  than  two  dollars,  to  buy.  And  then  he 
had  the  cheek  to  ask  me  to  give  him  'a  quarter  for 
himself.'  " 

"Yes,  that  was  his  tip.  We  must  expect  that. 
Gertrude  says  she  always  has  to  tip  the  servants  and 
drivers  and  such  at  college.  Did  you  give  it  to 
him?" 

"Who?  Me?  I  told  him  I  was  collectin'  for  a 
museum,  and  I'd  give  him  a  quarter  for  the  horse, 
just  as  it  stood — or  while  it  stood.  I  said  he'd  bet 
ter  take  the  offer  pretty  quick  because  the  critter 
looked  as  if  'twould  lay  down  most  any  minute." 

He  chuckled.    Serena,  however,  was  very  solemn. 

"Daniel,"  she  said,  "I  must  speak  to  you  again 
iabout  your  language.  You've  lived  in  Trumet  so 

68 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

long  that  you  talk  just  like  Azuba,  or  pretty  nearly 
as  bad.  You  mustn't  say  'critter'  and  'wa'n't'  and 
'cal'late.'  Do  try,  won't  you,  to  please  me?" 

"I'll  try,  Serena.  But  I  don't  see  what  difference 
it  makes.  We  do  live  in  Trumet,  don't  we?" 

"We  have  lived  there.     How  long  we  shall 

But  there,  never  mind.  Just  remember  as  well  as 
you  can  and  get  ready  now  for  dinner." 

Her  husband  muttered  that  he  didn't  see  where 
the  "getting  ready"  came  in;  he  had  on  the  best  he'd 
got.,  But  he  washed  his  hands  and  brushed  his  hair 
and  they  descended  to  the  dining-room,  where  they 
ate  a  table  d'hote  meal,  beginning  with  lukewarm 
soup  and  ending  with  salty  ice  cream. 

They  had  left  Trumet  the  previous  evening, 
spending  the  night  at  Centreboro  and  taking  the 
early  morning  train  for  Scarford.  Two  weeks  had 
passed  since  the  fateful  visit  of  young  Mr.  Farwell, 
and,  though  the  wondrous  good  fortune  which  had 
befallen  the  Dott  family  was  still  wonderful,  they 
were  beginning  to  accept  it  as  a  real  and  established 
fact.  All  sorts  of  things  had  happened  during  those 
two  weeks.  They  had  gone  to  Boston,  where  they 
spent  the  better  part  of  two  days  with  the  lawyers, 
going  over  the  lists  of  securities,  signing  papers,  and 
arranging  all  sorts  of  business  matters.  Serena  and 
the  attorneys  did  the  most  of  the  arranging.  Cap 
tain  Dan  looked  on,  understanding  very  little,  say 
ing  "Yes"  or  "No"  as  commanded  by  his  wife,  and 
signing  his  name  whenever  and  wherever  requested. 
After  another  day,  spent  in  the  Boston  shops, 
where  the  new  clothes  were  purchased  or  ordered,  a 
process  which  Serena  enjoyed  hugely  and  her  hus- 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

band  endured  with  a  martyr's  patience,  they  had 
paid  a  flying  visit  to  the  college  town  and  Gertrude. 
They  found  the  young  lady  greatly  excited  and  very 
happy,  but  her  happiness  was  principally  on  their 
account. 

"I'm  so  glad  for  you  both,  Daddy,"  she  told  her 
father.  "When  I  got  Mother's  letter  with  the  news 
the  very  first  thing  I  thought  was:  'There!  now 
Father  won't  have  to  worry  any  more  about  the  old 
store  or  anything  else.  He  can  be  comfortable  and 
carefree  and  happy,  as  he  deserves  to  be.'  And  you 
won't  worry,  will  you,  Dad?" 

The  captain  seemed  oddly  doubtful. 

"I  shan't  if  I  can  help  it,"  he  said.  "But  I'm  the 
most  foolish  chap  that  ever  lived,  in  some  ways, 
seems  so.  When  the  business  was  so  I  had  to  worry 
about  it  all  the  time  I  used  to  set  up  nights  wishin' 
I  didn't  own  it.  Now  that  we're  fixed  so  it  don't 
make  much  difference  whether  I  get  a  profit  or  not, 
I  find  myself  frettin'  and  wonderin'  how  Nathaniel 
and  Sam  are  gettin'  along.  I  wake  up  guessin'  how 
much  they've  sold  since  I've  been  away,  and  whether 
we're  stuck  on  those  canvas  hats  and  those  middy 
blouses  and  one  thing  or  'nother,  same  as  I  was 
afraid  we'd  be.  I've  only  been  away  three  days 
altogether,  but  it  seems  about  a  year." 

Gertrude  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"Why  don't  you  sell  out?''  she  asked.  "Or  would 
no  one  buy?  I  presume  that's  it." 

"No-o,  that  ain't  it.  I  don't  wonder  you  think 
so,  but  it  ain't.  Cohen — the  fellow  that  owns  the 
Emporium — was  in  only  the  day  afore  we  left,  hint- 
in'  around  about  my  retirin'  and  so  on.  He  didn't 

70 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

make  any  real  bid  for  the  business,  but  he  as  much 
as  said  he'd  consider  buyin'  me  out  if  I'd  sell.  Your 
mother,  she'd  give  me  fits  if  she  knew  it.  She  wants 
me  to  sell;  but — but  somehow  I  can't  make  up  my 
mind  to.  I've  been  so  used  to  goin'  out  to  that 
store  every  mornin'  and — and  havin'  it  on  my  mind 
that  somehow  I  hate  to  give  it  up.  Seems  like  cut- 
tin'  my  anchor  rope,  as  you  might  say." 

"I  understand.  I  shall  feel  much  the  same,  I 
know,  when  I  graduate  and  my  college  work  is  over. 
I  shall  be  lost  for  a  time  without  it;  or  I  should  be 
if  it  were  not  for  John  and — and  my  other  plans. 
But,  whether  you  keep  the  store  or  not,  you  mustn't 
worry  any  more,  Daddy  dear.  Nathaniel  is  a 
clever,  able  fellow;  every  one  says  so.  You  were 
fortunate  to  get  him.  Why  don't  you  engage  him 
permanently?  With  his  experience,  he  might  make 
a  real  success  of  the  business.  Who  knows?" 

He  could  not  possibly  make  less  of  a  success  than 
the  captain  had  made,  that  was  fairly  certain,  al 
though  she  did  not  say  so.  Nathaniel  Bangs  was  a 
Trumet  young  man  who  had  been  getting  on  well 
with  a  little  business  of  his  own  in  Brockton,  but 
who,  owing  to  ill  health,  had  been  obliged  to  return 
to  the  Cape  the  year  before.  Then,  health  much  im 
proved,  he  was  very  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  take 
charge  of  the  Metropolitan  Store  during  its  owners' 
short  absence.  Serena  had  thought  of  him,  and 
Serena  had  hired  him. 

Captain  Dan's  real  reason  for  not  selling  out  to 
the  astute  Mr.  Cohen  he  had  kept  to  himself.  His 
wife's  hints  concerning  Scarford  and  her  discontent 
in  Trumet  were  his  reasons.  These  were  what 

71 


troubled  him  most.  He  liked  Trumet;  he  liked  its 
quiet,  easy-going  atmosphere;  he  liked  the  Trumet 
people,  and  they  liked  him.  He  had  never  been  in 
Scarford,  but  he  was  certain  he  should  not  like  the 
life  there,  the  kind  of  life  lived  by  the  B.  Phelps 
Blacks,  at  any  rate.  The  Metropolitan  Store  was, 
he  felt,  an  anchor  holding  him  fast  to  the  Cape  Cod 
village.  If  he  cut  the  anchor  rope,  goodness  knows 
where  he  might  drift. 

On  the  very  day  of  their  return  from  the  Boston 
trip  Serena  had  begun  to  discuss  the  visit  to  Scar- 
ford,  the  visit  of  inspection  to  Aunt  Lavinia's  "es 
tate."  They  must  go,  she  said;  of  course  they  must 
go.  It  was  their  duty  to  do  that,  at  least.  How 
could  they  know  what  to  do  with  the  property  until 
they  saw  it?  To  all  Daniel's  feeble  objections  and 
excuses  she  was  deaf.  Of  course  they  could  leave 
the  house.  Azuba  would  take  care  of  that,  just  as 
she  always  did  when  they  were  away.  As  for  the 
store,  Nathaniel  would  be  glad  to  remain  as  man 
ager  indefinitely  if  they  wanted  him.  Surely  he  had 
done  splendidly  with  it  while  they  were  in  Boston. 

He  had.  During  the  four  days'  absence  of  its 
proprietor  the  Metropolitan  Store  had  actually  sold 
more  goods  for  cash  than  it  had  sold  during  any 
previous  week  that  summer.  Bangs  was  optimis 
tic  concerning  its  prospects.  He  was  loaded  with 
schemes  and  ideas. 

"All  you  need  is  a  little  push  and  up-to-date  meth 
ods,  Cap'n,"  he  said.  "You  must  advertise  a  little, 
and  let  people  know  what  you've  got  to  sell.  That's 
how  I  got  rid  of  all  that  stale  candy  you  had  in  the 
boxes  behind  the  showcase.  I  knew  the  Methodist 

72 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

folks  had  a  Sunday  school  picnic  on  the  slate  for 
Tuesday.  Kids  like  candy,  but  candy  costs  money. 
I  got  out  all  that  stale  stuff,  put  it  up  in  bags  at  five 
cents  apiece,  and  sent  the  bags  and  Sam  here  to  the 
picnic.  About  every  kid  had  ten  cents  or  so  to 
spend,  and  it  didn't  make  any  difference  to  him  or 
her  whether  the  candy  was  fresh  or  not,  so  there 
was  enough  of  it.  If  a  chocolate  cream  is  harder 
than  the  rock  of  Gibraltar  it  lasts  longer  when 
you're  eating  it,  and  that's  a  big  advantage  to  the 
average  young  one.  Sam  came  back,  sold  out,  and 
we've  got  four  dollars  and  eighty  cents  right  out  of 
the  junk  pile,  as  you  might  call  it.  The  kids  are 
happy  and  so  are  we.  There's  a  half-dozen  dried- 
up  oilskin  coats  in  the  attic  that  I've  got  my  eye  on. 
The  Manonquit  House  crowd  are  going  off  on  a 
final  codfishing  cruise  to-morrow  and  I'll  be  on  the 
dock  with  those  coats  at  a  dollar  apiece  when  they 
sail." 

"But — but  those  coats  are  old  as  Methuselah," 
faltered  the  captain.  "They'll  leak,  won't  they?" 

"Not  if  it's  fair  weather,  they  won't.  And,  if  it's 
rough,  they're  better  than  nothing.  You  can't  ex 
pect  a  mackintosh  for  a  dollar." 

Daniel's  method  would  have  been  to  refuse  selling 
the  coats  because  they  "wouldn't  be  much  good  in  a 
no'theaster."  When  the  codfishers  returned,  enthu 
siastic  because,  although  it  had  "drizzled"  for  fifteen 
minutes,  they  had  not  gotten  wet,  he  scratched  his 
head  and  regarded  his  new  assistant  with  awe.  Mr. 
Bangs'  services  were  retained,  "for  a  spell,  any 
how,"  and  the  captain's  principal  excuse  for  not 
visiting  Scarford  was  knocked  in  the  head.  To  Scar- 

73 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

ford  they  went,  and  at  the  Palatine  Hotel  in  Scar- 
ford  they  now  were. 

The  table  d'hote  meal  eaten,  the  next  feature  of 
Mrs.  Dott's  program  was  the  visit  to  the  Aunt  La- 
vinia  homestead.  There  was  a  caretaker  in  charge, 
so  the  Boston  lawyers  told  them,  and  Serena  had 
written  him  announcing  the  coming  of  the  new  own 
ers.  In  spite  of  her  husband's  protestations,  an 
other  cnrriage  was  hired  for  the  journey.  Daniel 
was  strongly  in  favor  of  walking  or  going  by  trolley. 

"Walkin'll  be  cheaper,  Serena,"  he  declared,  "and 
pretty  nigh  as  fast,  to  say  nothin'  of  bein'  more 
cheerful.  A  hack  always  makes  me  think  of  fu 
nerals  and  graveyards,  and  that  skeleton  of  a  horse 
looked  like  somethin'  that  had  been  buried  and  dug 
up.  Let's  walk,  will  you?" 

But  Serena  would  not  walk. 

"We  must  get  used  to  carriages,"  she  said.  "We 
may  ride  in  them  a  great  deal  from  now  on.  And, 
besides,  we  needn't  take  a  horse  carriage.  We 
shouldn't  have  taken  one  before.  Get  one  of  those 
new  kind,  the  automobile  ones.  What  is  it  they  call 
them?  Oh,  yes — taxis." 

The  taxi  gave  no  opportunity'  for  complaint  as 
far  as  slowness  was  concerned.  After  the  first  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  dodge  up  the  crowded  street  Captain 
Dan  shouted  through  the  window. 

"Hi!"  he  hailed,  addressing  the  driver.  "Hi, 
you!  You've  made  a  mistake,  ain't  you?  You 
thought  we  wanted  to  fly.  We  don't.  Just  hit  the 
ground  once  in  a  while,  so  we'll  know  it's  there." 

After  this  the  cab  moved  at  a  more  reasonable 
speed  and  its  occupants  had  an  opportunity  to  ob- 

74 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

serve  the  streets  through  which  they  were  passing. 
The  business  district  was  being  left  behind  and  they 
were  entering  the  residential  section. 

Mrs.  Dott  seized  her  husband's  arm. 

"Look!"  she  cried.  "Look,  Daniel,  quick  1  Do 
you  see  that?  That  building  there!" 

"I  see  it.  Some  kind  of  a  hall  or  something  ain't 
it?" 

"Yes.  And  I'm  quite  sure,  from  what  Mrs.  Black 
said,  that  it  is  the  hall  where  the  Scarford  Guild 
meets.  Yes,  it's  just  as  she  said  it  was.  I'm  sure 
that's  it.  Oh,  I'm  glad  I've  seen  it!  Yes,  and 
Mrs.  Black  said  they  lived  not  very  far  from  the 
hall.  Daniel !  Daniel !  ask  the  man  if  he  knows 
where  the  Blacks  live  and  if  he  can  show  us  their 
house." 

Captain  Dan  obediently  made  the  inquiry. 

"Who?"  grunted  the  driver.  "Which  Black? 
Black  and  Cobb,  the  Wee  Waist  Corset  feller? 
Sure !  I  know  where  he  lives.  I'll  show  you." 

A  few  moments  later  the  cab  slackened  its  speed. 

"There  you  are!"  said  the  driver,  pointing. 
"That's  Black's  house.  Built  two  years  ago, 
'twas." 

Serena  and  Daniel  looked.  The  house  was  new 
and  commodious,  a  trifle  ornate  in  decoration,  per 
haps,  and  a  bit  mixed  in  architecture,  owing  to  Mrs. 
Black's  insisting  upon  the  embodiment  of  various 
features  which  she  had  seen  in  magazines ;  but  on  the 
whole  a  rather  fine  house.  To  the  Dotts,  of  course, 
it  was  a  mansion. 

"My!"  said  Serena,  "to  think  of  our  knowing, 
really  knowing,  people  who  live  in  a  house  lijce  thatl 

75 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Oh,  dear!"  with  a  sigh,  "I  almost  wish  I  hadn't  seen 
it  until  after  we'd  seen  our  own.  We  must  try  not 
to  be  disappointed,  mustn't  we?" 

Captain  Dan  was  surprised.  "Disappointed?"  he 
said.  "Why,  what  do  you  mean?  As  I  recollect 
Aunt  Laviny's  place,  'twas  just  as  good  as  that,  if 
not  better.  You  said  so  yourself.  You  used  to  call 
it  a  regular  palace." 

"I  know,  but  don't  you  think  that  was  because  we 
hadn't  seen  many  fine  houses  then?  I'm  afraid  that 
was  it.  You  know  Mrs.  Black  said  it  was  old- 
fashioned." 

"Humph!  Barney What's  his  name? 

Phelps,  I  mean — he  said  he  wished  his  was  as  good. 
Don't  you  remember  he  did?" 

"Probably  he  didn't  mean  it.  I'm  not  going  to 
expect  too  much,  anyway.  I'm  going  to  try  and 
think  of  it  as  just  a  nice  old  place,  and  then  I  shan't 
feel  bad  when  I  see  it.  I'm  not  going  to  get  my 
expectations  up  or  be  a  bit  excited." 

In  proof  of  the  sincerity  of  this  determination, 
she  sat  bolt  upright  on  the  seat  and  looked  straight 
before  her.  Her  husband,  however,  was  staring 
out  of  the  window  with  all  his  might. 

"Say!"  he  exclaimed,  "this  is  a  mighty  nice  street, 
anyhow." 

"Is  it?  Is  it  really?"  For  a  person  not  excited, 
Mrs.  Dott's  breathing  was  short  and  her  fingers, 
tightly  clasped  in  her  lap,  were  trembling. 

"You  bet  it  is!  Hey!  Why,  we're  slowin'  up! 
We're  stoppin'." 

The  cab  drew  up  at  the  curb  and  came  to  a  stand 
still. 

76 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Here  you  are,"  said  the  driver.  "This  is  Num 
ber  1 80." 

Daniel  made  no  reply.  Leaning  from  the  win 
dow,  he  was  staring  with  all  his  might.  Serena's 
impatience  got  the  better  of  her. 

"Well?  Well?"  she  burst  forth.  "What  does  it 
look  like?  Do  say  something!" 

The  captain  drew  back  into  the  carriage. 

"My — soul!"  he  exclaimed  presently.  "Look, 
Serena." 

Serena  looked,  and  her  look  was  a  long  one. 
Then,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  shining,  she 
turned  to  her  husband. 

"Oh!  Oh,  Daniel!"  she  gasped.  "It's  as  good 
as  the  Blacks',  isn't  it?  I — I  do  believe  it's  better! 
Get  out,  quick!" 

The  caretaker,  a  middle-aged  man  with  dark  hair 
and  mutton-chop  whiskers,  met  them  at  the  top  of 
the  stone  steps  leading  to  the  front  door.  He  bowed 
low. 

"Good  afternoon,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "Good  af 
ternoon,  sir.  Mr.  Dott,  ain't  it,  sir?  And  Mrs. 
Dott,  ma'am.  My  name  is  'Apgood,  sir.  I 
was  expecting  you.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  walk 
in?" 

He  threw  open  the  door  and,  bowing  once  more, 
ushered  them  into  the  hall,  a  large,  old-fashioned 
hall  with  lofty  ceiling  and  a  mahogany  railed  stair 
case. 

"I  presume,  sir,"  he  said,  addressing  the  captain, 
"that  you  and  the  madam  would  wish  to  'ave  me 
show  you  about  a  bit.  I  was  Mrs.  Dott's — the  late 
Mrs.  Dott's — butler  when  she  resided  'ere,  sir,  and 

77 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

she  was  good  enough  to  make  me  'er  caretaker 
when  she  went  away,  sir." 

Captain  Dan,  rather  overawed  by  Mr.  Hapgood' s 
magnificent  manner,  observed  that  he  wanted  to 
know,  adding  that  he  had  heard  about  the  caretak- 
ing  from  the  lawyers  "up  to  Boston."  After  an 
appraising  glance  at  the  speaker,  Mr.  Hapgood  ad 
dressed  his  next  remark  to  Serena. 

"Shall  I  show  you  about  the  establishment, 
madam?"  he  asked. 

Serena's  composure  was  a  triumph.  An  inex 
perienced  observer  might  have  supposed  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  butlers  and  establishments  all 
her  life. 

"Yes,"  she  said  loftily,  "you  can  show  us." 

Mr.  Hapgood  was  a  person  of  wide  experience; 
however,  he  merely  bowed  and  led  the  way.  Serena 
followed  him,  and  Captain  Dan  followed  Serena. 

A  large  drawing-room,  a  library,  a  very  large 
dining-room,  five  large  bedrooms — "owners'  and 
guest  rooms,"  Mr.  Hadgood  grandly  termed  them, 
to  distinguish  from  the  servants'  quarters  at  the 
rear — billiard  room,  bathroom,  and  back  to  the  hall 
again. 

"You  would  wish  to  see  the  kitchens,  I  suppose, 
ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Hapgood.  "Doubtless  Mr. 
Dott  wouldn't  care  for  those,  sir.  Most  gentlemen 
don't.  Perhaps,  sir,  you'd  sit  'ere  while  the  lady 
and  I  go  through  the  service  portion  of  the  'ouse, 
sir." 

Daniel,  who  was  rather  curious  to  see  the  "service 
portion,"  partly  because  he  had  never  heard  of  one 
before,  hesitated.  His  wife,  however,  settled  the 

78 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

question.  She  was  conscious  of  a  certain  condescen 
sion  in  the  Hapgood  tone. 

"Of  course,"  she  said  lightly,  "Cap'n  Dott  will 
not  go  to  the — er — service  portion.  Such  things 
never  interest  him.  Sit  here,  Daniel,  and  wait. 

Now "  cutting  off  just  in  time  the  "Mister"  that 

was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  and  remembering  how 
butlers  in  novels  were  invariably  addressed — "Now 
— er — Hapgood,  you  can  take  me  to  the — ahem — 
kitchens." 

It  was  somewhat  disappointing  to  find  that  the 
plural  was  merely  a  bit  of  verbal  embroidery  on  the 
caretaking  butler's  part,  and  that  there  was  but  one 
kitchen,  situated  in  the  basement.  However,  it  was 
of  good  size  and  well  furnished  with  closets,  the  con 
tents  of  which  stirred  Serena's  housekeeping  curi 
osity.  The  inspection  of  the  kitchen  and  laundry 
took  some  time. 

Meanwhile,  upstairs  in  the  dim  front  hall,  Captain 
Dan  sat  upon  a  most  uncomfortable  carved  teak- 
wood  chair  and  looked  about  him.  Through  the 
doorway  leading  to  the  drawing-room — "front  par 
lor,"  he  would  have  called  it — he  could  see  the  ebony 
grand  piano,  the  ormolu  clock,  and  the  bronze  statu 
ettes  on  the  marble  mantel,  the  buhl  cabinet  filled 
with  bric-a-brac,  the  heavy  mahogany-framed  and 
silk-covered  sofa.  There  were  oil  paintings  on  the 
walls,  paintings  which  foreign  dealers,  recognizing 
Aunt  Lavinia's  art  craving  as  a  gift  of  Providence 
— to  them — had  sold  her  at  high  prices.  They  were, 
for  the  most  part,  landscapes,  inclining  strongly  to 
snow-covered  mountains,  babbling  brooks,  and  cows; 
or  marines  in  which  one-third  of  vivid  sunset  illu- 

79 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

mined  two-thirds  of  placid  sea.  Of  portraits  there 
were  two,  Uncle  Jim  Dott  in  black  broadcloth  and 
dignity  and  Aunt  Lavinia  Dott  in  dignity  and  black 
satin. 

Captain  Dan  felt  strangely  out  of  place  alone 
amid  this  oppressive  grandeur.  Again,  as  on  the 
memorable  occasion  of  his  first  visit  to  the  house,  he 
was  conscious  of  his  hands  and  feet.  Aunt  Lavinia's 
likeness,  staring  stonily  and  paintily  from  the  wall, 
seemed  to  regard  him  with  disapproval,  almost  as 
if  she  were  reading  his  thoughts.  If  the  portrait 
could  have  spoken  he  might  have  expected  it  to  say: 
"Here  is  the  person  upon  whom  all  these,  my 
worldly  possessions,  have  been  bestowed,  and  he 
does  not  appreciate  them.  There  he  sits,  upon  the 
teakwood  chair  which  I  myself  bought  in  Cairo,  and, 
so  far  from  being  grateful  for  the  gifts  which  my 
generosity  has  poured  into  his  lap,  he  is  wondering 
what  in  the  world  to  do  with  them,  and  wishing  him 
self  back  in  Trumet." 

Mrs.  Dott  and  the  caretaker  reentered  the  hall. 

"Thank  you,  Mr. — er Thank  you,  Hap- 
good,"  said  the  lady.  "That  will  be  all  for  to-day, 
I  think.  We  will  go  now.  Come,  Daniel." 

Hapgood  bowed.  "You  would  wish  me  to  stay 
'ere  as  I've  done,  ma'am?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  You  may  stay,  for  the  present.  Cap'n 
Dott  and  I  will  pay  your  regular  wages  as  long  as 
we  need  you." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am.  And  might  I  take 
the  liberty  of  saying  that  if  you  decide  to  stay  'ere 
permanently,  ma'am,  and  need  a  butler  or  a  man 
servant  about  the  place,  I  should  be  glad  to  'ave  you 

80 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

consider  me  for  the  position.  I'm  sure  it  would  'ave 
pleased  the  late  Mrs.  Dott  to  'ave  you  do  so, 
ma'am." 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  with  surprising  prompt 
ness  for  him,  "you  see,  Mr.  Hapgood,  as  far  as 
that  goes  we  ain't  intendin'  to " 

"Hush,  Daniel.  We  don't  know  what  we  intend. 
You  know  that  our  plans  are  not  settled  as  yet.  We 
will  consider  the  matter,  Hapgood.  Good  day." 

"Good  day,  ma'am,"  said  Hapgood.  "Good  day, 
sir." 

He  opened  the  big  front  door,  bowed  them  out, 
and  stood  respectfully  waiting  as  they  descended  the 
steps.  The  taxi  driver,  whom  the  captain  had 
neglected  to  discharge  or  pay,  was  still  there  at  the 
curb  with  his  vehicle.  Serena  addressed  him. 

"The  Palatine  Hotel,"  she  said,  with  great  dis 
tinctness.  "Come,  Daniel." 

They  entered  the  cab.  Captain  Dan  closed  the 
door.  The  driver,  looking  up  at  Mr.  Hapgood, 
grinned  broadly.  The  latter  gentleman  glanced  at 
the  cab  window  to  make  sure  that  his  visitors  were 
not  watching  him,  then  he  winked. 

As  the  cab  whizzed  through  the  streets  Serena 
gloated  over  the  splendors  of  their  new  possessions. 
The  house  was  finer  than  she  expected,  the  furni 
ture  was  so  rich  and  high-toned,  the  pictures — did 
Daniel  notice  the  pictures? 

"And  the  location !"  she  cried  ecstatically.  "Right 
on  the  very  best  street  in  town,  and  yet,  so  the  Hap 
good  man  said,  convenient  to  the  theaters  and  the 
clubs  and  the  halls.  We  saw  the  Ladies  of  Honor 
hall  on  the  way  up,  Daniel,  you  remember." 

Si 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Daniel  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  admitted,  "it's  fine  and 
convenient  and  all.  We" — with  a  sidelong  glance  at 
his  wife's  face — "we  ought  to  get  a  good  rent  for  it 
if  we  decide  not  to  sell;  hey,  Serena?" 

Serena  did  not  answer.  When  they  reached  the 
hotel  she  left  her  husband  to  settle  with  the  driver 
and  took  the  elevator  to  their  room.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  captain  joined  her.  He  looked  as  if  suf 
fering  from  shock. 

"My  heavens  and  earth,  Serena!"  he  exclaimed, 
"what  do  you  suppose  that  tax  hack  feller  had  the 
cheek  to " 

"Sshh!  shh!"  interrupted  the  lady,  who  was  re 
clining  upon  the  couch.  "Don't  bother  me  now, 
Daniel.  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  common 
every-day  things  now;  I  want  to  think." 

"Common!  Everyday!  My  soul  and  body!  if 
what  that  pirate  charged  me  was  everyday,  I'd  be  in 
the  poorhouse  in  a  fortni't.  Why " 

"Oh,  don't!  Please  don't!  Can't  you  see  I  am 
trying  to  realize  that  it's  true  and  not  a  dream. 
That  it  has  really  happened — to  me.  Please  don't 
talk.  Do  go  away,  can't  you?  Just  go  out  and 
take  a  walk,  or  something;  just  for  a  little  while. 
I  want  to  be  alone." 

Captain  Dan  slowly  descended  the  stairs.  The 
elevator,  of  course,  would  have  been  quicker,  but  he 
was  in  no  hurry.  If  he  must  walk,  and  it  seemed 
that  he  must,  he  might  as  well  begin  at  once.  He 
descended  the  stairs  to  the  ground  floor  of  the  hotel 
and  wandered  aimlessly  about  through  the  lobby  into 
the  billiard  room,  and  finally  to  a  plate  glass  door 
upon  which  was  lettered  the  word  "Rathskeller." 

82 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

What  a  Rathskeller  might  be  he  did  not  know, 
but,  as  there  was  another  set  of  letters  on  the  door 
and  those  spelled  "Push,"  he  pushed. 

The  Rathskeller  was  a  large  room,  with  a  bar  at 
one  end  and  many  little  tables  scattered  about.  At 
these  tables  men  were  eating,  drinking  and  smoking. 
A  violiii,  harp  and  piano,  played  by  a  trio  of  Ital 
ians,  were  doing  their  worst  with  a  popular  melody. 

The  captain  looked  about  him,  selected  one  of 
three  chairs  at  an  unoccupied  table,  and  sat  down. 
A  waiter  drifted  alongside. 

"What'll  you  have,  sir?"  inquired  the  waiter. 

"Hey?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Give  me  a  cup  of 
coffee." 

"Coffee?    Yes,  sir.    Anything  to  eat?" 

"No,  I  guess  not.     I've  had  my  dinner." 

"Smoke?" 

"Well,  you  might  bring  me  a  ten-cent  cigar." 

The  coffee  and  cigar  were  brought.  Daniel  lit 
the  latter,  took  a  sip  of  the  former  and  listened  to 
the  music.  This  was  not  taking  a  walk  exactly,  but, 
so  far  as  leaving  his  wife  alone  was  concerned,  it 
answered  the  purpose. 

The  room,  already  well  tenanted,  gradually  filled. 
Groups  of  men  entered,  stopped  to  glance  at  the  tape 
of  a  sporting  news  ticker  near  the  bar,  exchanged  a 
word  or  two  with  the  bartenders,  and  then  selected 
tables.  Several  times  the  two  vacant  chairs  at  the 
captain's  table  were  on  the  point  of  being  taken,  but 
each  time  the  prospective  occupants  went  elsewhere. 

At  length,  however,  two  young  men,  laughing  and 
talking  rather  loudly,  sauntered  through  the  room. 
One  of  them  paused. 

83 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Here  are  a  couple,"  he  said,  indicating  the 
chairs. 

His  companion,  an  undersized,  dapper  individual, 
whose  raiment — suit,  socks,  shirt,  shoes,  hat  and  tic 
— might  comprehensively  be  described  as  a  sym 
phony  in  brown,  paused  also,  turned  and  looked  at 
the  chairs,  then  at  the  table,  and  finally  at  the 
captain. 

"Yes,"  he  drawled,  regarding  the  latter  fixedly, 
"so  I  see.  Well,  perhaps  we  can't  do  better.  This 
place  is  getting  too  infernally  common,  though. 
Don't  think  I  shall  come  here  again.  If  it  wasn't 
that  they  put  up  the  best  cocktail  in  town  I  should 
have  quit  before.  All  right,  this  will  have  to  do,  I 
suppose." 

He  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  chairs.  His 
friend  followed  suit.  The  watchful  waiter  was  on 
hand  immediately. 

"Good  afternoon,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  bowing 
obsequiously. 

Neither  of  the  young  men  acknowledged  the  bow 
or  the  greeting,  although  it  was  evident  that  the 
waiter  was  an  old  acquaintance.  The  symphony  in 
brown  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

"Two  dry  Martinis,"  he  said.  "And  mind  that 
they  are  dry.  Have  Charlie  make  them  himself. 
If  that  other  fellow  does  it  I'll  send  them  back." 

"Yes,  sir.  All  right,  sir.  Will  you  have  a  bit 
of  lunch  with  them,  sir?  Caviare  sandwich  or " 

"No." 

"Shall  I  bring  cigars,  sir?" 

"Lord,  no!  The  last  I  had  here  nearly  poisoned 
me.  Get  the  cocktails  and  be  lively  about  it." 

84 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  waiter  departed.  The  young  gentleman 
drew  a  gold  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  drawled,  proffering  the  case. 
"Cigars!"  with  a  contemptuous  laugh.  "They  buy 
their  cigars  by  the  yard,  at  the  rope  walk.  Fact, 
Monty;  take  my  word  for  it." 

"Monty"  laughed.  "That's  pretty  rough,  Tacks," 
he  declared. 

"Oh,  but  it's  so.  You  can  actually  smell  the 
hemp.  Eh?  By  gad,  you  can  smell  it  now,  can't 
you?" 

Captain  Dan  was  relighting  the  stump  of  his  "ten- 
center"  which  had  gone  out.  He  had  scarcely  no 
ticed  the  newcomers;  his  thoughts  were  far  away 
from  Scarford  and  the  Palatine  Hotel.  Now,  how 
ever,  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  his  tablemates 
were  regarding  him  and  the  cigar  with  apparent 
amusement.  He  smiled  good  naturedly. 

"Been  runnin'  her  too  low,"  he  observed.  "Have 
to  get  up  steam  if  I  want  to  be  in  at  the  finish." 

This  nautical  remark  was  received  with  blank 
stares.  "Monty"  turned  his  shoulder  toward  the 
speaker.  "Tacks"  did  not  even  turn;  he  continued 
to  stare.  The  arrival  of  the  cocktails  was  the  next 
happening  of  importance. 

"I  say,  Tacks,"  observed  Monty,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair  and  sipping  his  Martini,  "how  are  you  get 
ting  on?  Made  up  your  mind  what  to  do?" 

"No,"  shortly. 

"Going  to  fight,  are  you?" 

"No  use.  The  confounded  lawyers  say  I  wouldn't 
have  a  show." 

"Humph  I  Low-down  trick  of  the  old  woman's, 
85 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

wasn't  it,  giving  you  the  shake  that  way?  Every 
body  thought  you  were  her  pet  weakness.  We  used 
to  envy  your  soft  snap.  Did  you  get  the  go-by 
altogether?" 

"Pretty  near.  Got  a  little  something,  but  it  was 
precious  little." 

"Can  you  pull  through  on  it?" 

"  'Twill  be  a  devilish  hard  pull." 

"Too  bad,  old  man.  But  cheer  up !  You'll  come 
out  on  top.  Have  another  one  of  these  things?" 

"All  right." 

More  Martinis  were  ordered.  "Monty"  and 
his  friend  lit  fresh  cigarettes.  The  former  asked 
another  question. 

"Who  are  the  lucky  winners?"  he  inquired. 
"Some  country  cousins  or  other,  I  know  that;  but 
who  are  they?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Yes,  I  know;  but  what  dif 
ference  does  it  make?" 

"Isn't  there  a  girl  somewhere  in  the  crowd?" 

"Yes,  but "  He  broke  off.  Captain  Dan  was 

regarding  him  intently. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  make  you  more 
comfortable,  Uncle?"  drawled  "Tacks,"  with  bland 
sarcasm. 

Daniel  was  taken  aback. 

"Why,"  he  stammered,  "I — I  don't  know's  there 
is." 

"Shall  I  speak  a  little  louder?  Possibly  that 
might  help.  Delighted  to  oblige,  I'm  sure." 

This  was  plain  enough,  certainly.  The  captain 
colored.  His  confusion  increased. 

"I — I  hope  you  don't  think  I  was  listenin'  to  you 
86 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

and  your  friend's  talk,"  he  protested  hastily, 
wasn't.  Why,  if — if  you  two  would  like  this  tabl« 
to  yourself  you  can  have  it  just  as  well  as  not.  I  can 
go  somewhere  else.  You  see,  I  was  thinkin' — when 
you  spoke  to  me — I  was  thinkin'  there  was  somethih' 
familiar  about  your  face.  Seemed  as  if  I'd  seen  you 
somewhere  before,  that's  all;  and " 

The  young  gentleman  in  brown  interrupted  him. 
"You're  mistaken,"  he  said,  "I  was  never  there." 
Then,  turning  to  his  friend,  he  added,  with  an  elab- 
orare  "Josh  Whitcomb"  accent:  "Monty,  'taters 
must  be  lookin'  up.  All  aour  folks  have  come  to 
i-own  to  spend  their  money." 

Monty,  upon  whom,  like  his  companion,  the  sec 
ond  cocktail — second  in  this  particular  sense — there 
had  been  others — seemed  to  be  having  some  effect, 
laughed  uproariously.  Even  the  joker  himself 
deigned  to  smile.  Captain  Dan  did  not  smile.  He 
had  risen,  preparatory  to  leaving  the  table;  now  he 
slowly  sat  down  again. 

"I  guess  I  was  mistaken,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
guess  you're  right  about  my  not  havin'  seen  you  be 
fore.  If  I  had  I  wouldn't  have  forgot  where." 

Monty  evidently  thought  it  his  turn  to  be  funny. 

"You  have  a  good  memory,  haven't  you,  Dea 
con?"  he  observed. 

The  captain  looked  at  him. 

"That  don't  necessarily  follow,  young  man,"  he 
said.  "There's  some  things  you  can't  forget." 

There  was  a  choking  sound  at  the  next  table;  a 
stout  man  there  seemed  to  be  having  trouble  in 
swallowing.  Those  with  him  looked  strangely 
happy,  considering. 

87 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Tacks"  frowned,  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
stood  up. 

"Come  on,  Monty,"  he  growled.  "This  place  is 
going  to  the  dogs.  They  let  anything  in  here  now." 

Daniel  turned  to  the  stout  man  and  his  party. 

"That's  strange,  ain't  it?"  he  said  in  a  tone  of 
grave  surprise.  "I  was  just  thinkin'  that  myself." 

Then,  his  cigar  smoked  to  the  bitter  end,  he,  too, 
rose,  and,  declining  the  invitations  of  the  stout  man 
and  his  friends  to  have  something  "because  he  had 
earned  it,"  he  walked  out  of  the  Rathskeller  and 
took  the  elevator  to  the  third  floor. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  room  gently  and  en 
tered  on  tiptoe,  for  he  thought  it  likely  that  Serena 
was  taking  a  nap.  She  was  not,  however;  on  the 
contrary,  she  was  very  wide  awake. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  demanded.  "I've 
been  waiting  and  waiting  for  you." 

Daniel  chuckled. 

"I've  been  down  below  in  a  place  they  call  the 
Rat  Cellar,  or  some  such  name,"  he  said.  "Thr  rats 
was  there,  two  of  'em,  anyhow.  And  I'd  met  one 
of  'em  before.  I  know  I  have.  I  wish  I  could 
think  who  he  was.  A  sort  of " 

But  Serena  was  not  listening. 

"Daniel,"  she  interrupted,  "it  is  all  settled.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind." 

Her  voice  was  tremulous  with  excitement.  Cap 
tain  Dan  looked  at  her. 

"Made  up  your  mind?"  he  repeated.  "I  want  to 
know!  What  about?" 

"About  our  plans  and  our  future,  Daniel;  my  op 
portunity  has  come,  the  opportunity  I  was  wishing 

88 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

for.  It  has  been  sent  to  me  by  Providence,  I  do 
believe — and  it  would  be  wicked  not  to  take  advan 
tage  of  it.  Daniel,  you  and  I  must  move  to  Scar- 
ford." 

The  captain  gasped. 

"Why — why,  Serena,"  he  faltered.  "What  are 
you  talkin'  about?  Don't  talk  so!  Move  to  Scar- 
ford!  Give  up  Trumet  and " 

"Trumet!  Don't  mention  Trumet  to  me.  Dan 
iel  Dott,  you'll  never  get  me  back  to  Trumet  again 
* — to  live  there,  I  mean — never,  never,  never!" 


CHAPTER   V 

CAPTAIN  DAN  said Well,  it  does  not 
matter  much  what  he  said.  He  said  a  great 
deal,  of  course,  during  that  evening  and  the 
next  morning,  and  would  have  kept  on  saying  it  all 
the  way  to  Trumet  if  his  wife  had  not  declined  to 
listen. 

"It  is  no  use,  Daniel,"  she  declared  calmly  but 
firmly.  "I  have  thought  it  all  out  and  I  know  it  is 
the  right  thing  for  us  to  do.  You  will  think  so,  too, 
one  of  these  days." 

"Durned  if  I  will  1    I  tell  you,  Serena " 

"Hush  I  you're  telling  everybody  in  the  car,  and 
that  isn't  necessary,  at  any  rate.  Now  we  won't 
argue  any  more  until  we  get  home.  Then  you  can 
say  your  say;  but" — with  discouraging  candor — "it 
won't  change  my  decision  a  single  mite.  My  mind  is 
made  up.  A  higher  power  than  you  or  me  has 
settled  everything  for  us.  We  are  going  to  Scar- 
ford  to  live,  and  we  will  go  just  as  soon  as  we  can 
get  ready." 

And  go  they  did.  The  captain  fought  a  stubborn 
battle,  surprisingly  stubborn  and  protracted  for  him, 
but  he  surrendered  at  last.  Serena  drove  him  from 
one  line  of  entrenchments  after  the  other,  and,  at 
length,  when  she  had  him  in  the  last  ditch,  where, 
argument  and  expostulation  unavailing,  he  could  only 
say,  "No!  no,  I  won't,  I  tell  you!"  over  and  over 

90 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

again,  she  used  her  most  effective  weapon,  tears, 
and  brought  him  to  terms. 

"You  don't  care,"  she  sobbed.  "You  don't  care 
for  me  at  all.  All  you  care  about  is  just  yourself. 
You're  willing  to  stay  here  in  this  awful  place,  you're 
willing  to  plod  along  just  as  you  always  have;  and  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference  about  my  wishes  or  my 
hopes,  or  anything.  If  you  were  like  most  hus 
bands  you'd  be  proud  and  glad  to  see  me  getting  on 
in  the  world;  you'd  be  glad  to  give  me  the  chance 
to  be  somebody;  you'd " 

"There !  there !  Serena,  don't  talk  so.  I'd  do 
anything  in  this  world  to  please  you." 

"Hush!  hush!  I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed 
to  say  such  things.  I  should  think  you'd  be  afraid 
to  say  them,  afraid  something  would  happen  to  you 
— you'd  be  struck  down  or  something.  Oh,  well!  I 
must  be  resigned,  I  suppose.  I  must  give  in,  just  as 
I  always  do.  I  must  be  satisfied  to  be  miserable  and 

— and Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I 

do?" 

Sobs  and  more  sobs,  frantic  clutchings  at  the  sofa 
pillows  and  declarations  that  she  had  better  die;  it 
would  be  better  for  her  and  ever  so  much  better  for 
everyone  else  if  she  were  dead.  No  one  would  care. 

Poor  Daniel,  distressed  and  remorseful,  vaguely 
conscious  that  he  was  right,  but  conscience  stricken 
nevertheless,  hoisted  the  white  flag. 

"Hush,  hush.,  Serena  !"  he  pleaded.  "Land  sakes, 
don't  say  such  things — please  don't.  I'll  do  anything 
you  want,  of  course  I  will.  I'll  go  to  Scarford,  if 
you  say  so.  I  was  just " 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  go  there  forever.     I  never 

QI 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  asked  that.  I  only  ask  you  to  go  there  and 
live  a  while  and  just  see  how  we  like  it.  That  was 
all  I  asked,  and  you  knew  it.  But  you  won't  1  you 
won't!" 

"Why,  yes  I  will,  too.  I'll  go — go  next  week,  if 
you  say  so.  I — I  just " 

He  got  no  further.  Mrs.  Dott,  wet-eyed  but  ra 
diant,  lifted  her  head  from  the  sofa  pillow  and 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Will  you?"  she  cried  ecstatically.  "Will  you, 
Daniel?  I  knew  you  would.  You're  a  dear,  good 
man  and  I  love  you  better  than  all  the  world.  We 
will  be  so  happy.  You  see  if  we  aren't." 

The  captain  was  no  less  doubtful  of  the  happi 
ness  than  he  had  ever  been,  but  he  tried  to  smile  and 
to  find  comfort  in  the  thought  that  she  was  happy  if 
he  was  not. 

He  had  written  Gertrude  telling  of  her  mother's 
new  notion  and  asking  for  advice  and  counsel.  The 
reply,  which  came  by  return  mail,  did  not  cheer  him 
as  much  as  he  had  hoped. 

"It  was  inevitable,  I  suppose,"  Gertrude  wrote. 
"I  expected  it.  I  was  almost  certain  that  Mother 
would  want  to  live  in  Scarford.  Mrs.  Black  has 
been  telling  her  all  summer  about  society  and  club 
life  and  what  she  calls  'woman's  opportunity,'  and 
Mother  has  come  to  believe  that  Scarford  is  Para 
dise.  You  will  have  to  go,  I  think,  Daddy  dear. 
Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  Mother  won't  be  satis 
fied  until  she  has  tried  it,  and  perhaps,  after  she  has 
tried  it,  she  may  be  glad  to  come  back  to  Trumet. 
My  advice  is  to  let  her  find  out  for  herself,  but,  of 
course,  if  you  feel  sure  it  is  wrong,  then  you  must 

92 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

put  your  foot  down,  say  no,  and  stick  to  it.  No  one 
can  do  that  for  you;  you  must  do  it  yourself." 

Which  was  perfectly  true,  as  true  as  the  other 
fact — namely,  that  Captain  Dan  could  not  "stick  to 
it"  in  a  controversy  with  his  wife,  having  lost  the 
sticking  faculty  years  before. 

But,  oddly  enough,  there  was  one  point  upon 
which  he  did  stick  and  refused  to  budge :  That  point 
was  Azuba's  going  to  Scarford  with  them.  Mrs. 
Ginn's  attitude  when  she  was  told  of  the  family 
exodus  was  a  great  surprise.  Serena,  who  broke  the 
news  to  her,  expected  grief  and  lamentations;  in 
stead  Azuba  was  delighted. 

"Well,  now!"  she  exclaimed.  "Ain't  that  fine  I 
Ain't  that  splendid!  I  always  wanted  to  go  some- 
where's  besides  Trumet,  and  now  I'm  goin'.  I  al 
ways  told  Labe,  my  husband,  that  if  there  was  one 
thing  I  was  jealous  of  him  about  'twas  travelin'. 
'You  go  from  Dan  to  Beersheby,'  I  says  to  him,  'any 
time  you  want  to.'  'Yes,'  says  he — this  was  the  last 
time  he  was  to  home,  three  years  ago — 'Yes,'  he 
says,  'and  when  I  don't  want  to,  too.'  'And  I,'  I 
says,  'I  have  to  say  stuck  here  in  Trumet  like  a  post 
in  a  rail  fence.'  'You  look  more  like  the  rail,  Zuby,' 
he  says — he's  always  pokin'  fun  'cause  I  ain't  fleshy. 
'Don't  make  no  difference  what  I  look  like,'  I  says, 
'here  I  be  and  I  ain't  never  been  further  than  the 
Brockton  cattle  show  since  I  was  ten  year  old.'  But 
now  I'm  goin'  to  travel  at  last.  My !  I'm  so  tickled 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I'll  start  in  makin'  my 
last  fall's  hat  over  this  very  night.  Say,  it's  a  good 
thing  you've  got  me  to  help  in  the  goin'  and  the 
settlin',  ain't  it,  Sereny — Mrs.  Dott,  I  mean." 

93 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

In  the  face  of  this  superb  confidence  Serena,  who 
had  intended  leaving  Azuba  behind,  lacked  the 
courage  to  mention  the  fact.  And  when  she  sought 
her  husband  in  the  store  and  asked  him  to  do  it,  he 
flatly  refused. 

"What!"  he  said.  "Tell  Zuba  Ginn  we're  goin' 
to  cast  her  adrift!  I  should  say  not!  Of  course 
we  can't  do  any  such  thing,  Serena." 

"But  what  can  we  do  with  her,  Daniel?  We 
might  leave  her  here  to  take  care  of  the  place,  I 
suppose,  but  that  would  only  be  for  a  time,  until  we 
find  somebody  to  buy  it.  Of  course  we  can't  run 
two  places,  and  we'll  have  to  sell  this  one  some  time 
or  other." 

Daniel,  to  whom  the  idea  of  selling  the  home  of 
which  he  had  been  so  proud  was  unthinkable,  ig 
nored  the  question. 

"You  couldn't  leave  her  here,"  he  declared.  "She 
wouldn't  stay.  Zuba's  queer — all  her  tribe  are  and 
always  was — but  she's  nobody's  fool.  She'd  know 
right  off  you  were  tryin'  to  get  rid  of  her.  No,  it 
may  be  all  right  enough  to  leave  Nate  Bangs  in 
charge  of  the  store,  because  he'd  like  nothin'  bet 
ter,  but  you  can't  leave  Zuba  in  the  house." 

"Then  what  can  we  do  with  her?" 

r(Take  her  with  us.  She  can  do  housekeepin'  in 
Scarf ord  same  as  she  can  here,  can't  she?" 

"Take  her  with  us!  Why,  Daniel  Dott!  the  very 
idea !  Think  of  Azuba  in  a  place  like  that  Scarford 
mansion!  Think  of  her  and  that  dignified,  polite 
Hapgood  man  together !  Think  of  it!" 

The  captain  seemed  to  find  the  thought  amusing. 

"Say,  that  would  be  some  fun,  wouldn't  it?"  he 
94 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

chuckled.  "I'd  risk  Zuba,  though.  He  wouldn't  do 
the  Grand  Panjandrum  over  her  more'n  once.  I'd 
risk  her  to  hold  up  her  end." 

"What  do  you  think  the  B.  Phelps  Blacks  would 
say  if  they  saw  Azuba  trotting  through  the  grand 
front  hall  with  her  kitchen  apron  on?" 

The  mention  of  the  name  had  an  odd  effect  upon 
the  captain.  He  straightened  in  his  chair. 

"I  don't  care  what  they  say,"  he  declared.  "I 
don't  care  what  the  Blacks  would  say,  nor  the  Yel 
lows  nor  the  Blues  either.  If  they  don't  like  it  they 
can  stay  in  their  own  front  halls  and  lock  the  door. 
Look  here,  Serena :  Zuba  Ginn  has  been  with  us 
ever  since  Gertie  was  born;  she  took  care  of  her 
when  she  had  the  scarlet  fever,  set  up  nights  and 
run  the  risk  of  catchin'  it  herself,  and  all  that.  The 
doctor  told  us  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Zuba  and 
her  care  and  self-sacrifice  and  common  sense  Gertie 
would  have  died.  She  may  be  queer  and  hard  to 
keep  in  her  place,  as  you  call  it,  and  a  regular  walkin' 
talkin'  machine,  and  all  that.  I  don't  say  she  ain't. 
What  I  do  say  is  she's  been  good  enough  for  us  all 
these  years  and  she's  good  enough  for  me  now.  She 
ain't  got  any  folks;  her  husband  is  as  queer  as  she  is, 
and  only  shows  up  once  in  two  or  three  years,  when 
he  happens  to  think  of  it.  She  ain't  got  any  home 
but  ours,  and  nobody  else  to  turn  to,  and  I  won't 
cast  her  adrift  just  because  I've  got  more  money 
than  I  did  have.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  do  it.  No, 
sir!  if  Zuba  Ginn  wants  to  go  to  Scarford,  along 
with  us,  she  goes,  or  I  don't  go  myself." 

He  struck  the  desk  a  violent  blow  with  his 
clenched  fist.  Serena  regarded  him  with  astonish- 

95 


ment  It  had  been  a  long  time  since  she  had  seen 
him  like  this,  not  since  the  old  seafaring  days. 

"Why— why,  Daniel,"  she  faltered,  "I  didn't 
mean  to  make  you  cross.  I — I  only  thought.  .  .  . 
Of  course,  she  can  go  with  us  if  you  feel  that 
way." 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,"  said  her  husband  shortly. 
Then,  as  if  suddenly  awakening  and  with  a  relapse 
into  his  usual  manner,  he  added,  "Was  I  cross?  I'm 
real  sorry,  Serena.  Say,  don't  you  want  some  candy? 
Nathaniel's  just  openin'  a  new  case  from  Boston. 
Hi,  Sam!  Saml  bring  me  a  pound  box  of  those 
Eureka  chocolates,  will  you?" 

Serena  did  not  again  suggest  Azuba's  remaining 
in  Trumet.  Neither  she  nor  Captain  Dan  referred 
to  the  subject  again.  Mrs.  Dott  was,  to  tell  the 
truth,  just  a  bit  frightened;  she  did  not  understand 
her  husband's  sudden  outbreak  of  determination. 
And  yet  the  explanation  was  simple  enough.  So 
long  as  he  was  the  only  sufferer,  so  long  as  only  his 
own  preferences  and  wishes  were  pushed  aside  for 
those  of  his  wife  or  daughter,  he  was  meekly  pas 
sive  or,  at  the  most,  but  moderately  rebellious;  here, 
however,  was  an  injustice — or  what  he  considered 
an  injustice — done  to  someone  else,  and  he  "put  his 
foot  down"  for  once,  at  least. 

So,  upon  the  fateful  day  when,  preceded  by  a 
wagonload  of  trunks  and  bags  and  boxes,  the  Dotts 
once  more  drove  through  Scarford's  streets  to  the 
mansion  which  was  to  be  their  home — permanently, 
according  to  Serena;  temporarily,  so  her  husband 
hoped — Azuba  accompanied  them.  And  Azuba  was 
wildly  excited  and  tirelessly  voluble.  Even  Captain 

96 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Dan,  the  long-suffering,  grew  weary  of  her  exclama* 
tions  and  chatter  at  last. 

"Say,  Zuba,"  he  remonstrated,  "is  this  an  all-day 
service  you're  givin'  us?  If  it  is,  I  wish  you'd  take 
up  a  collection  or  somethin',  for  a  change.  Mrs. 
Dott  and  I  are  gettin'  sort  of  tired  of  the  sermon.'* 

"Why — why,  what  do  you  mean?  I  was  only  just 
sayin'  I  never  see  so  many  folks  all  at  once  since 
that  time  I  was  at  the  Brockton  cattle  show.  I'll 
bet  there's  a  million  right  on  this  street." 

"I'll  take  the  bet.  Now  you  start  in  and  count 
'em,  and  let's  see  who  wins.  Count  'em  to  yourself, 
that's  all  I  ask." 

Azuba,  with  an  indignant  toss  of  the  "made- 
over"  hat,  subsided  for  the  time.  But  the  sight  of 
the  Aunt  Lavinia  mansion,  with  Mr.  Hapgood  bow 
ing  a  welcome  from  the  steps,  was  too  much  for  her. 

"Oh!"  she  burst  forth.  "Oh!  you  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that's  it !  Why,  it's  perfectly  grand !  And 
— and  there's  the  minister  comin'  to  call  already! 
Ain't  it  lovely!" 

That  night,  as  they  sat  down  for  the  first  meal  in 
the  new  abode,  a  meal  cooked  by  Azuba  and  served 
by  the  light-footed,  soft-spoken,  deft-handed  Hap* 
good,  Serena  voiced  the  exultation  she  felt. 

"There,  Daniel,"  she  observed,  beaming  across 
the  table  at  her  husband,  "now  you  begin  to  appre-* 
ciate  what  it  means,  don't  you.  Now  you  begin  to 
see  the  difference." 

Captain  Dan,  glancing  up  at  the  obsequious  Hap- 
good  standing  at  his  elbow,  hesitated. 

"Yes,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Hapgood  anxiously.  "What 
is  it  you  wish,  sir?" 

97 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Nothin',  nothin'.  Why,  yes,  I  tell  you:  You 
go  out  and — and  buy  me  a  cigar  somewhere.  Here's 
the  money." 

"Cigar,  sir?     Yes,  sir.     What  kind  do  you " 

"Any  kind;  only  get  it  quick." 

Then,  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  dignified 
Hapgood,  he  added: 

"I've  got  three  cigars  in  my  pocket  now,  but  that 
doesn't  matter.  I  had  to  send  him  after  somethin'  I 
Say,  Serena,  is  it  real  necessary  to  have  that  under 
taker  hangin'  over  us  all  the  time?  Every  time  he 
looks  at  me  I  feel  as  if  he  was  takin'  my  measure. 
Has  every  meal  got  to  be  a  funeral?" 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  captain  noticed  the 
difference.  He  noticed  it  more  the  following  day, 
and  more  still  on  each  succeeding  one. 

The  next  evening  the  Blacks  called — called  in 
state.  A  note  from  Mrs.  Black,  arriving  by  the 
morning's  post,  announced  their  coming.  Serena 
noted  the  Black  stationery,  its  quality  and  the  gilded 
monogram,  and  resolved  to  order  a  supply  of  her 
own  immediately.  Also  she  bade  her  husband  don 
his  newest  and  best.  She  did  the  same,  and  when 
Captain  Dan,  painfully  conscious  of  a  pair  of  tight 
shoes,  entered  the  drawing-room  he  found  her  al 
ready  there. 

"My!"  he  exclaimed,  regarding  her  with  admira 
tion,  "you  do  look  fine,  Serena.  Is  that  the  one  the 
Boston  dressmaker  made?" 

"Yes.    I'm  glad  you  like  it." 

"Couldn't  help  likin'  it.  I  can't  hardly  realize  it's 
my  wife  that's  got  it  on.  Walk  around  and  let  me 
take  an  observation.  Whew!  I  always  said  you 

98 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

looked  ten  years  younger  than  you  are.  That  rig 
don't  spell  forty-five  next  January,  Serena." 

Mrs.  Dott  sniffed. 

"Don't  remind  me  of  my  age,  Daniel,"  she  pro 
tested.  "It  isn't  necessary  to  tell  everyone  how  old 
I  am." 

"All  right.  Nobody'd  guess  it,  anyhow.  But 
how  funny  you  walk.  What  makes  you  take  such 
little  short  steps?" 

"I  can't  help  it.  This  dress — gown,  I  mean — is 
so  tight  I  can  hardly  step  at  all." 

"Have  to  shake  out  a  reef,  won't  you?  How  in 
the  world  did  you  get  downstairs — hop?" 

vHush!  Don't  be  foolish.  The  gown  is  no 
fighter  than  anyone  else's.  It's  the  style,  Daniel, 
and  you  and  I  must  get  used  to  it.  Are  those  your 
new  shoes?" 

"They  certainly  are.  Do  they  look  as  new  as  they 
feel?  I  walk  about  the  way  you  do,  Serena.  Bein' 
in  style  ain't  all  joy,  is  it?" 

"It's  better  than  being  out  of  it.  And,  Daniel, 
please  remember  not  to  say  'ain't.'  I've  asked  you 
so  many  times.  We  have  our  opportunity  now  and 
so  must  improve  ourselves.  You're  not  keeping 
store  in  the  country  any  longer.  You  are  a  man  of 
means,  living  among  cultivated  society  people,  and 
you  must  try  to  behave  like  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
you  will  be  called  upon  to  associate  with." 

"Humph !"  doubtfully.  "I  don't  know  as  I  could 
behave  like  a  lady  if  I  tried.  As  for  the  gentleman, 
if  you  mean  Barney  Black " 

"I  mean  B.  Phelps  Black.  Don't  you  dare  call 
him  Barney  to-night.  If  you  do  I  shall  be  so  morti- 

99 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

fied.  Hush !  Here  they  are.  Very  well,  Hapgood. 
You  may  show  them  in." 

Even  Serena's  new  gown,  fine  as  it  was  and  proud 
as  she  had  been  of  it,  lost  something  of  its  glory  and 
sank  into  a  modest  second  place  when  Annette  ap 
peared.  Mrs.  Black  had  dressed  for  the  occasion. 
Also,  she  had  insisted  upon  her  husband's  dressing. 

"What  in  blazes  must  I  climb  into  a  dress  suit 
for?"  demanded  that  gentleman  grumpily.  "Going 
to  call  on  Dan  Dott  and  his  wife.  You  don't  ex 
pect  Dan  to  be  wearing  a  dress  suit,  do  you?  He 
never  wore  one  in  his  life." 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference  what  he  wears. 
I  want  you  to  go  in  evening  dress." 

"But,  confound  it,  Annette,  we've  been  calling  on 
those  people  all  summer." 

"That  was  in  the  country;  this  is  not.  Don't  you 
see,  Phelps?  Can't  you  understand?  Those  Dotts 
have  come  here  to  live.  I  did  all  I  could  to  prevent 
it,  but ' 

"What?"  Mr.  Black  interrupted  with  an  amazed 
protest.  "Did  all  you  could  to  prevent  it!  Why, 
you  used  to  preach  Scarford  to  Serena  Dott  from 
morning  till  night.  You  were  always  telling  her 
how  much  better  it  was  than  Trumet.  I  don't  be 
lieve  she  would  ever  have  thought  of  coming  here 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

Annette  stamped  her  foot  impatiently.  "Don't 
you  suppose  I  know  it?"  she  demanded.  "That  was 
when  I  never  imagined  there  was  any  chance  of 
their  really  coming.  But  now  they  have  come  and 
we've  got  to  be  with  them  to  some  extent.  We've 
got  to ;  we  can't  get  out  of  it.  That  is  why  I  want 

100 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

them  to  see  how  people  of  our  class  dress.  I  can't 
tell  her  that  her  clothes  are  a  sight,  as  country  as  a 
green  pumpkin,  but  I  can  show  her  mine,  and  she's 
clever  enough  to  understand.  And  you  can  show  her 
husband.  Not  that  that  will  do  much  good,  I'm 
afraid.  He  is  the  real  dreadful  part  of  the  thing. 
Goodness  knows  what  he  may  say  or  do  at  any 
time!" 

Phelps  grinned.  Nevertheless,  he  donned  the 
dress  suit. 

Mrs.  Black  had  another  reason,  one  which  she 
did  not  mention,  for  making  this,  their  first,  call 
upon  the  Dotts  in  their  new  home  a  ceremonial  occa 
sion.  It  was  true  that  they  would  be  obliged  to 
associate  with  these  acquaintances  from  the  country 
more  or  less;  the  commonest  politeness  required 
that,  considering  all  that  had  gone  before.  But  she 
meant  there  should  be  no  misunderstanding  of  the 
relations  between  the  families.  In  Trumet  she  had 
made  Mrs.  Dott  her  protegee  because  it  was  her 
nature  to  patronize,  and  Serena  had  not  resented 
the  patronage.  Now  circumstances  were  quite  dif 
ferent;  now  the  Dotts  possessed  quite  as  much 
worldly  wealth  as  the  Blacks,  but  Annette  did  not 
Intend  to  let  Serena  presume  upon  that.  No,  in 
deed!  She  intended,  not  only  by  the  grandeur  of 
her  raiment  and  that  of  her  husband,  but  by  her 
tone  and  manner,  to  make  perfectly  plain  the  fact 
that  the  acquaintanceship  was  still  a  great  conde 
scension  on  her  part  and  did  not  imply  equality  in 
the  least. 

But  this  lofty  attitude  was  destined  to  be  shaken 
before  the  evening  was  over.  The  first  shock  came 

101 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

at  the  very  beginning,  and  Mr.  Hapgood  was  re 
sponsible  for  it.  Annette  had  referred,  during  the 
Trumet  acquaintanceship,  to  her  "staff  of  servants," 
and  had  spoken  casually  of  her  cook  and  second 
girl  and  laundress  and  "man,"  as  if  the  quartette 
were  permanent  fixtures  in  the  Black  establishment. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only  fixtures  were  the  cook 
and  second  girl.  The  laundress  came  in  on  Mon 
days  and  Tuesdays  to  do  the  washing  and  ironing, 
and  the  "man"  acted  as  janitor's  helper  at  the  fac 
tory  three  days  of  the  week.  The  chauffeur  was  but 
a  summer  flourish;  B.  Phelps  drove  his  own  car 
eight  months  in  the  year. 

So  when  the  door  of  the  Dott  mansion  was  opened 
by  a  butler — and  such  a  dignified,  polite,  imposing 
butler — Mrs.  Black's  soul  was  shaken  by  a  twinge 
of  envy.  The  second  shock  was  Serena's  appear 
ance  and  the  calm  graciousness  of  her  demeanor. 
The  Boston  gown  was  not  as  grand,  as  prodigal  of 
lace  and  embroidery,  as  was  the  visitor's,  but  it  was 
in  the  latest  fashion  and  Serena  wore  it  as  if  she  had 
been  used  to  such  creations  all  her  life.  Neither 
was  she  overawed  or  flurried  when  her  callers  en 
tered.  Serena  had  read  a  good  deal,  had  observed 
as  much  as  her  limited  opportunities  would  allow, 
and  was  naturally  a  clever  woman  in  many  ways. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Black?"  she  said. 
'It's  so  good  of  you  to  come.  And  to  bring  Mr. 
Black,  too.  You  must  take  off  your  things.  Yes, 
you  must.  Hapgood,  take  the  lady's  wraps.  Dan 
iel!" 

The  captain,  who,  not  being  used  to  butlers  and 
lacking  much  of  his  wife's  presence  of  mind,  had 

102 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

started  forward  to  assist  with  the  wraps,  stopped 
short. 

"Yes,  Serena?"  he  faltered. 

"Can't  you  ask  Mr.  Black  to  sit  down  ?" 

"Hey?  Why,  course  I  can.  I  judged  he  was 
goin'  to  sic  down  anyway.  Wasn't  figgerin'  to 
stand  up  all  the  evenin',  was  you,  Bar — er — 
Phelps?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Black.  To  prove  it  he  se 
lected  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room. 

"I  had  such  a  time  to  get  Phelps  to  come,"  de 
clared  Annette,  sinking,  with  a  rustle,  into  the  next 
best  chair.  "He  wanted  to  see  you  both,  of  course, 
and  to  welcome  you  to  Scarford,  but  he  is  so  busy 
and  has  so  many  engagements.  If  it  isn't  a  direc 
tors'  meeting  it  is  a  house  committee  at  the  club,  or 
• — or  something.  You  should  be  thankful  that  your 
husband  is  not  a  man  of  affairs  and  constantly  in 
demand.  It  was  a  club  meeting  to-night,  wasn't  it, 
Phelps,  dear?" 

"  'Twas  a  stag  dinner,"  observed  Mr.  Black. 
"Say,  Dan,  I'll  have  to  take  you  to  one  of  'em  some 
time.  It's  a  good  bunch  of  fellows  and  we  have 
some  of  the  cleverest  vaudeville  stunts  afterward 
that  you  ever  saw.  Last  week  there  were  a  couple 
of  coons  that " 

"Phelps  1"  Annette  interrupted  tartly,  "you 
needn't  go  into  details.  •  I  don't  imagine  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Dott  will  be  greatly  interested.  What  a 
charming  old  room  this  is,  isn't  it?  So  quaint! 
Everything  looks  as  if  it  had  been  here  a  hundred 
years." 

Before  Serena  could  frame  a  reply  to  this  back- 
103 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

handed  compliment  the  unconscious  B.  Phelps  re 
moved  the  greater  part  of  its  sting  by  observing: 

"That  butler  of  yours  looks  as  if  he  had  been 
here  a  thousand.  I  felt  as  if  George  the  First  was 
opening  the  door  for  me.  He's  a  star,  all  right. 
Did  he  come  with  the  place?" 

Mrs.  Dott  explained  that  Hapgood  was  one  of 
Aunt  Lavinia's  old  servants.  "She  thought  the 
world  of  him.  Daniel  and  I  feel  perfectly  safe  in 
leaving  everything  to  him.  Auntie  found  him  some 
where  abroad — working  for  a  lord  or  a  count  or 
something,  I  believe — and  brought  him  over.  He 
is  pretty  expensive,  his  wages,  I  mean,  but  he  is 
worth  it  all.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

Yes,  Mrs.  Black  found  it  much  more  difficult  to 
patronize  than  she  expected,  and  Serena  was  cor 
respondingly  happy.  But  the  crowning  triumph 
came  later.  The  doorbell  rang,  and  Hapgood  en 
tered  the  drawing-room  bearing  a  tray  upon  which 
were  several  cards.  He  bent  and  whispered  re 
spectfully. 

Mrs.  Dott  was  evidently  surprised  and  startled. 

"Who?"  she  asked. 

Hapgood  whispered  again. 

Serena  rose.  "Yes,  of  course,"  she  said  nerv 
ously.  "Yes,  certainly.  I  declare,  I " 

"What's  up?"  asked  her  husband,  his  curiosity 
aroused.  "Nothin*  wrong,  is  there?  What's  that 
he's  bringm'  you  on  that  thing?" 

He  referred  to  the  cards  and  the  tray.  His  wife, 
who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Black's  face, 
fought  down  her  nervousness  and  announced  with 
dignified  composure. 

104 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Some  more  callers,  that's  all,  Daniel,"  she  said. 
"Oh,  you  mustn't  go,  Mrs.  Black.  You  know  them, 
I'm  sure.  I've  heard  you  speak  of  'em — of  them 
often.  It's" — referring  to  the  cards — "the  Honor 
able  Oscar  Fenholtz  and  Mrs.  Fenholtz.  Ask  them 
right  in,  Hapgood.  Daniel,  get  up  !" 

Daniel  hurriedly  obeyed  orders.  Mr.  Black  also 
rose. 

"The  Fenholtzes!"  he  observed  in  a  tone  of  sur 
prise.  "Say,  Dan,  I  didn't  know  you  knew  them. 
Annette  didn't  say  anything  about  it." 

Annette  hadn't  known  of  it;  her  expression 
showed  that.  The  Honorable  and  Mrs.  Fenholtz 
were  Scarford's  wealthiest  citizens.  Mr.  Fenholtz 
was  proprietor  of  a  large  brewery  and  was  an  ex- 
mayor.  His  wife  was  prominent  socially;  as  promi 
nent  as  Mrs.  Black  hoped  to  be  some  day. 

Hapgood  reappeared,  ushering  in  the  new  ar 
rivals.  The  Honorable  Oscar  was  plump  and  florid 
and  good-natured.  He  wore  a  business  suit  and  his 
shoes  were  not  patent  leathers.  Mrs.  Fenholtz  was 
likewise  plump.  Her  gown,  in  comparison  with  An 
nette's,  or  even  Serena's,  was  extremely  plain  and 
old-fashioned. 

She  hastened  over  to  where  Serena  was  standing 
and  extended  her  hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Dott?"  she  said  pleas 
antly.  "Welcome  to  Scarford.  You  and  I  have 
never  met,  of  course,  but  I  used  to  know  Mrs. 
Lavinia  Dott  very  well  indeed.  And  this  is  Mr. 
Dott,  I  suppose.  How  do  you  do?  And  here  is 
my  husband.  Oscar,  these  are  our  new  neigh 
bors." 

105 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Fenholtz  and  the  captain  shook  hands.  Cap 
tain  Dan  felt  his  embarrassment  disappearing  under 
the  influence  of  that.hearty  shake. 

"I  suppose  you  scarcely  expected  callers — or  calls 
from  strangers — so  soon,"  went  on  Mrs.  Fenholtz. 
"But,  you  see,  I  hope  we  shan't  be  strangers  after 
this.  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  you  all  alone  here 
in  this  great  house  in  a  strange  place,  and  so  I  told 
Oscar  that  he  and  I  must  run  in.  We  live  near 
here,  only  on  the  next  corner." 

"I  said  you  would  be  having  your  after-dinner 
smoke,  Mr.  Dott,"  explained  the  Honorable,  with 
a  smile  and  a  Teutonic  accent.  "I  said  you  would 
wish  we  was  ouid  instead  of  in;  but  Olga  would  not 
have  it  so.  And,  when  the  women  say  yes,  we  don't 
say  no.  Eh;  what  is  the  use?"  He  chuckled. 

Captain  Dan  grinned.  "That's  right,"  he  said. 
"No  use  for  the  fo'mast  hand  to  contradict  the  skip 
per." 

Mrs.  Black  stepped  forward. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Fenholtz?"  she  said  with 
unction. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Serena.  "I — I'm  forget 
ting  everything.  But  you  know  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Black,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Fenholtz?" 

Mrs.  Fenholtz  turned. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Black?"  she  said.  Her 
tone  lacked  the  enthusiasm  of  Annette's. 

"Hello,  Black,"  said  her  husband.  "What  are 
you  doing  here?  I  thought  you  would  be  at  the 
club,  listening  to  the — what  is  it? — the  cabaret.  Py 
George,  my  wife  says  I  shall  not  go  any  more !  She 
says  it  is  no  place  for  a  settled  man  so  old  as  I  am. 

106 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Ho !  ho !  Yet  I  tell  her  the  stag  dinner  is  good  for 
the  beer  business." 

Before  B.  Phelps  could  answer,  Mrs.  Black 
spoke. 

"He  wanted  to  go,  Mr.  Fenholtz,"  she  declared. 
"But  he  felt,  as  I  did,  that  our  first  duty  was  here. 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Dott  are  old  friends  of  ours. 
We  meet  them  every  year  at  the  Cape;  we  have  a 
summer  home  there,  you  know." 

Fenholtz  seemed  interested.  "That  is  so,"  he 
said.  "I  forgot.  Dott,  are  you  one  of  those  Cape 
Cod  skippers  they  tell  me  about?  I  am  glad  of  it. 
I  have  got  a  boat  myself  down  in  Narragansett  Bay. 
One  of  those  gruisin'  launches,  they  call  them.  But 
this  one  is  like  the  women,  it  will  gruise  only  where 
and  when  it  wants  to,  and  not  where  I  want  to  at  all. 
There  is  something  the  matter  with  the  engine  al 
ways.  I  have  had  egsperts — ah,  those  egsperts ! — 
they  are  egsperts  only  in  getting  the  money.  When 
they  are  there  it  will  go  beautifully;  but  when  they 
have  left  it  will  not  go  at  all.  I  wish  you  could 
see  it." 

Captain  Dan  was  interested,  too. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  to,  first  rate.  I've  got 
a  boat  of  my  own  back  home;  that  is,  I  used  to  have 
her.  She  was  a  twenty-five  foot  .cat  and  she  had  a 
five-horsepower  auxiliary  in  her.  I  had  consider'ble 
experience  with  that  engine.  Course,  I  ain't  what 
you'd  call  an  expert." 

"I  am  glad  of  that.  Now  I  will  explain  about 
this  drouble  of  mine." 

He  went  on  to  explain.  In  five  minutes  he  and 
the  captain  were  head  over  heels  in  spark  plugs  and 

107 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

batteries  and  valves  and  cylinders.  Mr.  Black  en 
deavored  to  help  out  with  quotations  from  his  ex 
perience  as  a  motorist,  but  his  suggestions,  not  being 
of  a  nautical  nature,  were  ignored  for  the  most 
part.  After  a  time  he  lost  interest  and  settled  back 
in  his  chair. 

Meanwhile  the  three  ladies  were  engrossed  in 
other  matters.  Mrs.  Fenholtz  asked  to  be  shown 
the  house;  she  had  not  seen  it  for  a  long  time,  she 
said,  and  was  much  interested.  Annette  suddenly 
remembered  that,  she  also  was  "mad"  to  see  it.  So 
Serena  led  a  tour  of  inspection,  in  which  Mr.  Hap- 
good  officiated  as  assistant  pilot  and  superintendent 
of  lighting. 

After  the  tour  was  at  an  end,  and  just  before  the 
party  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Fen 
holtz  turned  to  Serena  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Dott,  are  you  interested  in  club  matters; 
in  women's  clubs,  I  mean?" 

Serena's  answer  was  a  prompt  one. 

"Indeed  I  am,"  she  said.  "I  have  always  been 
interested  in  them.  In  fact,  I  am  president  of  the 
Trumet  Chapter;  that  is,  I  was;  of  course,  I  re 
signed  when  I  came  here." 

Mrs.  Fenholtz  looked  puzzled. 

"Trumet  Chapter?"  she  repeated. 

"Why,  yes,  the  Chapter  of  the  Guild  of  the 
Ladies  of  Honor.  The  order  Mrs.  Black  belongs 
to." 

"Oh!"  in  a  slightly  different  tone.  "Oh,  yes,  I 
see." 

"I'm  terribly  interested  in  that,"  declared  Serena 
enthusiastically.  "If  you  knew  the  hours  and  hours 

108 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

I  have  put  in  working  for  the  Guild.  It  is  a  splen 
did  movement;  don't  you  think  so?" 

"Why — why,  I  have  no  doubt  it  is.  I  don't  be 
long  to  it  myself.  I  was  thinking  of  our  local  club, 
our  Scarford  women's  club,  when  I  spoke.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  care  to  attend  a  meeting  of  that 
with  me." 

"I  should  love "  began  Serena,  and  stopped. 

Mrs.  Black,  who  was  standing  behind  Mrs.  Fen- 
holtz,  was  shaking  her  head.  The  last-named  lady 
noticed  her  hostess'  hesitation. 

"But  of  course,"  she  went  on,  "if  you  are  inter 
ested  in  the  Ladies  of  Honor  you  would  no  doubt 
prefer  visiting  a  meeting  of  theirs.  In  that  case 
Mrs.  Black  could  help  you  more  than  I.  She  is 
vice-president  of  the  Scarford  Branch,  I  think.  You 
are  vice-president,  aren't  you,  Mrs.  Black?" 

Annette  colored  slightly. 

"Why— why,  yes,"  she  admitted;  "I  am." 

Serena  was  surprised. 

"Vice-president?"  she  repeated.  "Vice-president 
• — I — I — must  have  made  a  dreadful  mistake.  I  in 
troduced  you  as  president  at  that  Trumet  meeting. 
I  certainly  thought  you  were  president." 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  if  Mrs.  Black  had  not 
specifically  said  that  she  was  president  of  the  Scar- 
ford  Chapter,  she  had  led  her  acquaintances  in  Tru 
met  to  infer  that  she  was;  at  all  events,  she  had  not 
corrected  Serena's  misapprehension  on  the  night  of 
the  meeting.  She  hastened  to  do  so  now. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said.  "I  noticed  that  you  made  a 
mistake  when  you  introduced  me,  but,  of  course,  I 
could  hardly  correct  you  publicly,  and,  when  it  was 

109 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

all  over,  I  forgot.     I  am  only  vice-president,  just 
as  Mrs.  Fenholtz  says." 

Mrs.  Fenholtz  smiled.  "Well,  I  am  not  evert 
an  officeholder  in  our  club,"  she  said,  "although  I 
was  at  one  time.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  prefer 
to  be  introduced  by  a  vice-president  rather  than  a 
mere  member;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Black  is  planning 
for  you  to  attend  one  of  the  Guild  meetings,  so  I 
mustn't  interfere." 

Annette  was  visibly  flurried.  The  Scarford  Chap 
ter  was  the  one  subject  which  she  had  carefully 
avoided  that  evening.  But  between  it  and  the 
Woman's  Club  there  was  a  bitter  rivalry,  and,  al 
though  she  had  not  been  at  all  anxious  to  act  as 
sponsor  for  her  friend  from  the  country,  now  that 
Mrs.  Fenholtz  had  offered  to  do  so  and  had  placed 
the  responsibility  squarely  on  her  shoulders,  she 
could  not  dodge. 

"Why — why,  of  course,"  she  said.  "That  was 
understood.  We  have  had  so  many  things  to  talk 
about  this  evening  that  I  had  really  forgotten  it, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Dott.  I  had  indeed!  When,"  she 
hesitated,  "when  could  you  make  it  convenient  to 
attend  one  of  our  meetings?  Of  course  I  know  how 
busy  you  are  just  now  in  your  new  home,  and  I  shall 
not  be  unreasonable.  I  shouldn't,  of  course,  expect 
you  to  attend  the  next  meeting." 

"Oh,"  said  the  unconscious  Serena,  "I'm  not  so 
busy  as  all  that.  I  could  go  to  the  next  meeting 
just  as  well  as  not.  I  should  love  to." 

They  entered  the  drawing-room,  to  find  Captain 
Dan  and  the  Honorable  Oscar  still  deep  in  the  en 
gine  discussion  and  Mr.  Black  sound  asleep  in  his 

no 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

chair.  Roused  by  his  indignant  wife,  he  drowsily 
inquired  if  it  was  time  to  get  up,  and  then,  becoming 
aware  of  the  realities  of  the  situation,  hastily  ex 
plained  that  he  had  been  thinking  about  business 
affairs  and  had  forgotten  where  he  was. 

"Going,  Annette,  are  you?"  he  asked. 

Annette  tartly  observed  that  she  was  going,  and 
added  that  she  judged  it  high  time  to  do  so.  Mrs. 
Fenholtz  said  that  she  and  her  husband  must  be 
going,  also. 

"But  we  shall  hope  to  see  a  great  deal  of  you  and 
Mr. — I  should  say  Captain  Dott,"  she  said.  "You 
must  dine  with  us  very  soon.  I  will  set  an  evening 
and  you  mustn't  say  no." 

"That  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Fenholtz  heartily. 
"Captain,  some  of  these  days  you  and  I  will  take  a 
gouple  of  days  and  go  down  and  look  at  that  boat. 
If  she  does  not  go  then,  we  will  put  an  'egspert'  in 
her  and  sink  them  both.  What?" 

Altogether,  it  was  a  wonderful  evening.  The 
only  fly  in  the  ointment  was  Azuba,  who  appeared 
just  as  the  visitors  were  at  the  door,  to  announce 
that  "that  foolhead  of  a  grocer's  boy"  hadn't 
brought  the  things  she  ordered  and  what  they  was 
going  to  do  for  breakfast  she  didn't  know. 

"I  could  give  you  b'iled  eggs,"  she  added,  "but 
Captain  Dan'l  made  such  a  fuss  about  them  we  had 
yesterday  that  I  didn't  dast  to  do  it  without  askin' 
you.  I  wanted  to  have  some  picked-up  fish,  but 
Jhey  didn't  keep  none  but  the  hashed-up  kind  that 
comes  in  pasteboard  boxes,  and  I'd  just  as  soon  eat 
hay  as  that." 

On  the  way  home  Mrs.  Black  divided  her  dis- 
III 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

course  into  two  parts,  one  a  scorching  of  her  husband 
for  falling  asleep  and  making  her  ridiculous  before 
the  Fenholtzes,  and  the  other  a  sort  of  irritated 
soliloquy  concerning  "those  Dotts"  and  the  way  in 
which  they  had  been  loaded  upon  her  shoulders. 

"I  did  my  best  to  keep  the  Guild  out  of  the  con 
versation,"  she  said,  "but  that  Fenholtz  woman  had 
to  drag  it  in,  and  now,  of  course,  I've  got  to  take 
that  Dott  person  to  the  next  meeting  and  intro 
duce  her  to  everybody,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  see  that  she  is  made  a  member.  Oh,  dear  I  I  al» 
most  wish  I  had  never  seen  Trumet." 

B.  Phelps  grunted.  "Humph!"  he  said.  "If  the 
Fenholtzes  take  them  up  I  don't  see  what  you've  got 
to  kick  about.  You've  been  trying  to  get  in  the 
Fenholtz  set  yourself  for  the  last  three  years. 
Maybe  you  can  do  it  now." 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  Scarford  Chapter  of  the  Guild  of  the 
Ladies  of  Honor  was  not  as  large  a  body 
as  Mrs.  Black  in  the  exuberance  of  her 
Trumet  conversation  had  led  Serena  to  think. 
In  reality,  its  membership  was  less  than  a 
hundred.  It  was  formed  in  the  beginning  by  a 
number  of  seceders  from  the  local  Women's 
Club,  who,  disappointed  in  their  office-seeking 
ambitions  and  deeming  the  club  old-fashioned 
and  old-fogyish  in  its  ideas,  had  elected  to  form 
an  organization  of  their  own.  They  had  affili 
ated  with  the  national  order  of  the  Ladies  of 
Honor,  chiefly  because  of  the  opportunity  which 
such  a  body  offered  for  office  holding  and  notoriety. 
The  members  were  not  drawn  from  the  oldest  fami 
lies  of  Scarford  nor  from  those  whose  social  posi 
tion  was  established.  They  were  chiefly  the  wives 
and  daughters  of  men  who  had  made  money  rather 
suddenly;  would-be  geniuses  whose  genius  had  not 
been  recognized  as  yet;  women  to  whom  public 
speaking  and  publicity  were  as  the  breath  of  their 
nostrils;  extravagants  and  social  climbers  of  all 
sorts. 

The  purposes  of  the  organization,  outside  those 
specified  in  the  constitution  of  the  parent  body,  were 
rather  vague.  Ex-Mayor  Fenholtz  expressed  a 
rather  general  opinion  when  he  said: 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"The  Ladies  of  Honor?  Sure  I  it  is  a  place  where 
the  women  go  who  think  their  husbands  don't  ap 
preciate  them.  If  I  was  one  of  those  husbands  I 
should  appreciate  their  having  that  place.  They 
might  stay  at  home  if  they  didn't.  That  would  be  a 
galamity." 

The  ladies  of  the  Scarford  Chapter  made  it  a 
point  to  be  always  abreast  of  the  times.  Theirs  was 
not  a  suffrage  organization  because,  as  many  of  them 
said,  the  belief  in  suffrage  was  so  common  now 
adays.  Their  motto  was  "Advancement."  Just 
what  sort  of  advancement  seemed  to  make  little  dif 
ference. 

The  next  meeting — that  is,  the  meeting  to  which 
Serena  had  be"en  invited — was  one  of  the  few  at 
which  men  were  permitted  to  be  present.  The 
Blacks  called  at  the  Dott  mansion  with  the  car,  Mr. 
Black  not  acting  as  driver  this  time,  and  the  journey 
to  the  hall  was  made  in  that  vehicle.  It  was  not  a 
lively  journey,  so  Captain  Dan  thought.  He  and 
B.  Phelps  occupied  the  folding  seats  facing  the  two 
ladies  and  Mr.  Black  maintained  a  gloomy  silence 
all  the  way.  As  for  Annette  and  Serena,  they  talked 
and  talked  upon  subjects  miles  above  the  head  of  the 
captain.  Mrs.  Black  did  most  of  the  talking; 
Serena  was  content  to  listen  and  pretend  to  under 
stand. 

"This  is  to  be  an  open  meeting,  Mrs.  Dott,"  said 
Annette  graciously.  "You  see,  we  have  open  meet 
ings,  just  as  you  do  in  Trumet,  although  I  doubt  if 
you  find  much  resemblance  between  the  two.  You'd 
scarcely  expect  that,  would  you?  Ha!  ha!  It  is  a 
good  thing,"  she  added,  addressing  the  occupants  of 

114 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  carriage  in  general,  "for  these  husbands  of  ours 
to  be  shown  occasionally  what  their  wives  are  ca 
pable  of.  Here  is  our  Chapter  building.  Phelps, 
give  Mrs.  Dott  your  arm." 

The  Chapter  building  proved  to  be  not  quite  up 
to  Serena's  expectation.  It  was  a  building,  of  course, 
but  the  Chapter  occupied  only  two  or  three  rooms 
on  the  third  floor,  the  other  floors  being  occupied 
by  offices  of  various  sorts.  The  largest  room,  that 
which  Mrs.  Black  dignified  by  the  title  of  "Assembly 
Hall,"  was  partially  filled  when  they  entered.  Some 
sixty  women  of  various  ages,  with  a  sprinkling  of 
men  among  them,  occupied  the  chairs  on  the  floor. 
Upon  the  speakers'  platform  half  a  dozen  ladies  in 
radiant  attire  were  chatting  volubly  with  another, 
an  imposing  creature  in  crimson  silk,  who  surveyed 
the  audience  through  a  gold  lorgnette,  and  whose 
general  appearance  reminded  Daniel  of  one  of 
the  stuffed  armchairs  in  the  parlor  of  their  new 
home. 

"That  is  Mrs.  Cornish,  the  speaker  of  the  even 
ing,"  whispered  Annette.  "She  is  one  of  our  most 
brilliant  members." 

"Yes,"  replied  Dan'l,  to  whom  the  information 
had  been  imparted,  and  upon  whom  the  crimson 
silk  had  made  an  impression;  "yes,  she — she  does 
look  sort  of — sort  of  brilliant." 

"But  I  thought  the  Chapter  was  larger  than  this," 
said  the  puzzled  Mrs.  Dott.  "I  thought  Scarford 
had  one  of  the  largest  Chapters." 

"Oh,  no,  not  the  largest,  merely  one  of  the  best. 
Our  motto  always  has  been  quality  not  quantity. 
And  now  will  you  excuse  me?  They  are  waiting 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

for  me  on  the  platform.  I  will  see  you  when  the 
open  meeting  is  over.  Phelps,  find  good  seats  for 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dott." 

She  bustled  away  to  the  platform.  The  gloomy 
B.  Phelps  found  seats  for  the  guests  and  himself 
and  sank  heavily  down  beside  them.  Daniel,  who 
had  been  gazing  about  him  with  curiosity,  whispered 
a  question. 

"What  do  they  do  at  these  things,  Barney — 
Phelps,  I  mean?"  he  asked.  "Are  they  like  lodge 
meetings  at  home?  This  is  my  first  trip  here,  you 
know." 

"Humph!"  grunted  his  companion.  "You're  in 
luck." 

"Talk,  don't  they?" 

"Talk!  Good  Lord!  Say,  Dan,  if  I  get  to  sleep 
and  you  notice  Annette  looking  this  way,  nudge  me, 
that's  a  good  fellow." 

He  settled  himself  in  his  chair  and  closed  his 
eyes.  Daniel  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Serena,"  he  murmured.  "Say,  Serena,  don't  you 
think  it  is  a  queer-lookin'  crowd?  Seems  to  me  I 
never  saw  such  clothes  or  so  many  different  kinds  of 
hair.  Look  at  that  woman's  skirt.  It's  tore  all  up 
one  side." 

"Sshh!  Don't  speak  so  loud.  That's  the  latest 
style." 

"What!    That?    Well,  I " 

"Sshh !  It's  the  latest  style,  I  tell  you.  Haven't 
you  seen  the  fashion  magazines?  All  the  new  dresses 
are  made  that  way." 

"Yours  ain't." 

"Well,  I — I'm  not  as  young  as  that  woman  is." 
116 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"You  wouldn't  wear  a  thing  like  that  if  you  were 
as  young  as  Gertie;  and  she  wouldn't  either,  not  if 
I  saw  it  first.  I  never  saw  such  folks  as  these  at 
Trumet." 

"Of  course  you  didn't.  Trumet  isn't  Scarford. 
We  are  in  society  now,  Daniel.  We  mustn't  show 
our  ignorance." 

"Humph !  I'd  rather  show  my  ignorance  than 
Hello,  the  doin's  are  goin'  to  commence." 

The  Chapter  president,  a  Mrs.  Lake,  advanced 
to  the  desk,  smote  it  fiercely  with  a  gavel  and  de 
manded  order.  The  hall,  which  had  been  buzzing 
like  a  colony  of  June  bugs,  gradually  grew  still. 
Then  Mrs.  Lake  opened  the  meeting.  She  delivered 
a  short  speech.  Mrs.  Black,  in  lieu  of  the  secre 
tary,  who  was  absent,  read  the  minutes.  Then  there 
were  motions  and  amendments  and  excited  calls  for 
recognition  from  "Madam  President."  It  was 
.yivelier  than  Daniel  had  expected. 

But  soon  the  woman  in  crimson  silk  was  intro 
duced.  Mrs.  Cornish  bowed  in  recognition  of  the 
gloved  applause,  and  proceeded  to  talk  .  .  .  and 
talk  .  .  .  and  talk.  .  .  . 

At  first  Captain  Dan  endeavored  to  pay  strict 
attention  to  the  address.  Its  title  was  "The  Mod 
ern  Tendency,"  and  the  tendency  in  this  case  seemed 
to  be  to  say  as  much  as  possible  about  nothing  in 
particular. 

Daniel  found  his  attention  wandering  and  his  eyes 
closing.  They  opened  at  intervals  as  the  applause 
burst  forth,  but  they  closed  between  bursts.  The 
tremendous  enthusiasm  at  the  end,  however,  awok^ 
him  for  good,  and  he  remained  awake  until  the 

"7 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

close  of  the  "open  meeting,"  a  marked  contrast  to 
Mr.  Black,  who  slumbered  to  the  finish. 

When  it  was  over  Annette  descended  from  the 
platform  and  came  hurrying  to  them. 

"How  did  you  enjoy  it,  Captain  Dott?"  she 
purred. 

Daniel  rather  dubiously  admitted  that  he  guessed 
'twas  first  rate,  far's  he  could  make  it  out.  His 
wife  was  enthusiastic;  she  affirmed  that  it  was 
splendid. 

"I'm  sure  we  couldn't  help  enjoying  it,  Mrs. 
Black,"  she  said.  "Everyone  of  us.  Didn't  you 
enjoy  it,  Mr.  Black?" 

"Sure !"  replied  Phelps  promptly.     "Great  stuff  I" 

His  wife  swooped  upon  him  like  a  swallow  on  a 
fly. 

"You?"  she  snorted  contemptuously.  "You  didn't 
hear  a  word  of  it.  I  only  hope  Mrs.  Cornish  wasn't 
watching  you,  as  I  was.  And  now,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Serena,  "comes  the  other  part,  the  im 
portant  part.  Captain  Dott,  there  is  to  be  a  short 
business  meeting  in  a  few  minutes,  and  men  are,  of 
course,  excluded.  Phelps,  will  you  have  James  drive 
Captain  Dott  home?  You  had  better  go  with  him, 
and  then  come  back  again  and  wait  for  us.  Captain 
Dott,  I  am  going  to  borrow  your  wife  for  a  short 
time." 

Daniel,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to  say, 
said  nothing.  Phelps  seized  his  arm  and  led  him 
down  to  the  carriage.  The  driver  received 
his  instructions  and  the  homeward  ride  be 
gan. 

"I  say,  Barney,"  observed  Daniel,  after  waiting 
118 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

for  his  escort  to  volunteer  a  word  or  two,  "are  all 
their  meetings  like  that?" 

Mr.  Black  snorted.  "No,"  he  declared;  "some 
are  a  d d  sight  worse." 

It  was  after  eleven  when  Serena  returned.  Her 
face  was  flushed  and  shining  with  excitement.  She 
did  not  wait  to  remove  her  hat,  but  rushed  into 
the  parlor  where  her  husband  sat  in  lonely  magnifi 
cence.  The  solicitous  Hapgood,  who  had  happened 
in  every  few  minutes  to  see  if  his  employer 
"wished  anything,"  had  been  ordered  to  "go  aloft 
and  turn  in."  The  tone  in  which  the  order  was 
given  made  an  impression  and  Hapgood  had 
obeyed. 

"Oh,  Daniel!"  she  cried.  "What  do  you  think? 
I've  been  made  a  member  of  the  Chapter!" 

Captain  Dan  should  perhaps  have  been  enthusi 
astic.  If  he  was,  he  suppressed  his  feelings  won 
derfully. 

"Have  you,  Serena?"  he  observed.  "I  want  to 
know!" 

He  listened  while  his  wife  dilated  upon  the  won 
derful  happenings  at  the  meeting  and  the  glorious 
consequences  which  she  felt  sure  were  to  follow. 
Just  before  putting  out  the  light  he  asked  one  more 
question. 

"That— that  Mrs.  Lake?"  he  said.  "She's  a 
grass  widow,  ain't  she — isn't  she,  I  mean?" 

"Yes,  what  of  it?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  Only  I  thought  you  were  kind  of 
prejudiced  against — against " 

"I've  had  a  good  many  prejudices,  I  suppose,  like 
ofcher  people.  But  Mrs.  Lake's  husband  was  a 

119 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

brute;  Mrs.  Black  told  me  so.  He  must  have  been, 
for  she  is  perfectly  lovely.  I've  met  them  all,  and 
they  are  all  lovely.  They're  going  to  call  and — and 
everything.  Oh,  Daniel,  this  means  so  much  to 
us!"' 

Captain  Dan  turned  out  the  gas. 

"Yes,  Serena,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  shouldn't  won 
der  if  it  did." 

The  calls  began  the  very  next  afternoon.  Mrs. 
Black,  having  made  up  her  mind  that  the  taking  of 
the  Dotts  under  her  wing  was  a  necessity,  made  a 
virtue  of  that  necessity  and  explained  to  her  fellow 
members  of  Scarford  Chapter  that  Serena  and  Dan 
iel  were  really  very  nice  people.  "A  little  countri 
fied,  of  course.  You  must  expect  that.  But  they 
are  very  kind  hearted  and  immensely  wealthy — oh, 
immensely."  She  was  kind  enough  to  add  that 
Serena  was  quite  an  exceptional  person  and  an  ad 
vanced  thinker,  considering  her  opportunities.  "The 
club  people  were  going  to  take  them  up,  and  so  I 
felt  that  we  should  get  in  first,"  she  explained.  "If 
they  should  prove  to  be  impossible  we  can  drop  them 
at  any  time,  of  course." 

In  making  this  explanation  she  did  not  mention 
the  Fenholtzes,  and  yet  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
call  of  the  Honorable  Oscar  and  his  wife  it  is  ex 
tremely  doubtful  if  Serena  would  have  become  a 
member  of  Scarford  Chapter  so  soon.  Also  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  little  dinner  given  by  the  Blacks  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dott  would  have  taken  place  within 
the  week.  At  that  dinner  Captain  Dan  wore  his 
first  dress  suit.  He  bought  it  ready  made  at  one  of 
the  Scarford  shops  and  it  fitted  him  remarkably  well, 

120 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

considering.     What  he  could  not  do,  however,  was 
to  feel  at  ease  in  it. 

"Good  land,  Serena !"  he  said,  when  the  dressing 
was  completed  and  they  were  about  to  start  for  the 
dinner,  "don't  pick  at  me  so  everlastin'ly.  Don't 
you  suppose  I  know  I  look  as  stiff  and  awkward  as 
if  I'd  froze?  You  won't  let  me  put  my  hands  in  my 
pockets,  and  all  I  can  do  is  hang  'em  around  loose 
and  think  about  'em,  and  this  blessed  collar  is  so 
high  I  can't  scarcely  get  my  chin  over  it.  I'm  doin' 
my  best,  so  don't  keep  remindin'  me  what  I  look  like 
all  the  time." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  say,  Daniel,"  declared  his 
wife.  "The  clothes  are  just  what  you  ought  to  wear, 
and  if  you  would  only  forget  them  for  a  little  while 
you  would  look  all  right." 

"But  I  can't  forget.  I  know  the  clothes  are  all 
right.  It's  me  that's  all  wrong.  My  red  face 
stickin'  over  the  top  of  this  collar  looks  like  a  fire 
man's  shirt  on  a  white  fence.  I  tell  you  I  ain't  used 
to  this  kind  of  thing.  I  wasn't  born  to  it  and  it  don't 
come  natural  to  me." 

"Neither  was  Mr.  Black  'born  to  it,'  but  he 
has  got  used  to  it  and  so  can  you  if  you  will 
try." 

"Oh,  I'll  try.  But  I'm  beginnin'  awful  late  in  life. 
I  know  you'll  be  ashamed  of  me,  Serena.  You 
ought  to  have  a  different  husband." 

"I  don't  want  a  different  one.  I  wouldn't  change 
you  for  anybody.  But  I  do  think  you  ought  to  try 
and  help  me  as  much  as  you  can.  My  chance  has 
just  come;  I  am  only  just  beginning  and  I  mean  to 
go  on  and  improve  myself  and  our  position  in  life 

121 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

all  I  can.  All  I  ask  you  to  do  is  not  to  hold  me 
back  by  complaining." 

The  "little  dinner"  was  not  as  little  as  it  might 
have  been.  Annette  had  taken  pains  to  make  it  as 
elaborate  and  as  costly  an  affair  as  she  could.  This 
was  not  solely  on  the  Dotts'  account.  She  had  invited 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fenholtz  and  the  impression  was  to 
be  made  upon  them,  if  possible.  But,  unfortunately, 
the  Fenholtzes  did  not  attend.  Mrs.  Fenholtz  wrote 
that  she  had  a  prior  engagement  and  sent  regrets, 
just  as  she  had  previously  done  on  the  occasions  of 
Mrs.  Black's  other  "little"  functions. 

However,  the  leading  lights  of  Scarford  Chapter 
attended  and  the  display  of  gowns  and  coiffures  was 
more  varied  and  elaborate  than  at  the  open  meeting. 
Serena,  seated  at  the  right  hand  of  B.  Phelps,  was 
in  her  glory.  She  felt  that  at  last  she  was  in  touch 
with  the  real  thing.  Daniel,  sandwiched  between 
Annete  and  Mrs.  Lake,  was  not  as  happy.  The 
necessity  of  forgetting  his  clothes  and  remembering 
his  grammar  was  a  heavy  burden.  His  conversa 
tion  was  limited  to  "Yes"  and  "No"  and  "I  shouldn't 
wonder,"  and  after  a  time  the  ladies  ceased  in  their 
efforts  to  make  him  talk  and  carried  on  an  animated 
dialogue  across  his  shirt  front. 

After  dinner  there  was  music  and  bridge.  Dan 
iel  was  fond  of  music,  but  most  of  the  songs,  sung 
by  a  thin  young  lady  with  a  great  deal  of  hair  and 
a  decollete  gown,  were  in  a  language  which  he  did 
not  understand,  and  the  piano  solos  seemed  to  him 
to  be  made  up  of  noise  and  gymnastics  with  very 
little  melody.  He  watched  Serena,  however,  who, 
in  turn,  was  watching  Mrs.  Lake  and  the  rest;  whan 

122 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

they  applauded,  she  applauded  and  the  captain  fol 
lowed  suit. 

Bridge  was  an  unknown  quantity  to  both  of  them, 
and  they  sat  and  looked  on  while  Mrs.  Black  made 
it  "without"  and  found  fault  with  her  partner  when 
they  lost.  The  thin  young  lady,  who  had  obliged 
with  the  vocal  selections,  asked  the  captain  if  he 
played  "nullos."  Daniel,  who  was  not  sure  whether 
"nullos"  was  a  musical  instrument  or  a  game,  re 
plied  that  he  wasn't  sure,  but  he  didn't  think  he  did; 
after  which  he  retired  into  the  corner  to  avoid  fur 
ther  questioning. 

They  reached  home  about  two  o'clock,  and  the 
captain  fell  sound  asleep  in  the  taxi  and  had  to  be 
shaken  into  consciousness  when  the  machine  reached 
the  Dott  door. 

"My  soul,  Serena,"  he  said,  when  they  were  up 
stairs  in  the  bedroom,  "don't  those  folks  ever  go  to 
bed?  There  was  stuff  enough  to  eat  at  that  dinner 
to  last  the  average  family  through  three  meals. 
Time  I  had  finished  the  ice  cream  I  was  ready  to 
curl  up  like  a  cat  in  front  of  the  fire;  but  the  rest 
of  them  seemed  to  be  just  startin'  in  to  be  lively. 
Are  we  goin'  to  keep  this  up  very  long?  If  we 
are,  I'll  have  to  sleep  in  the  daytime,  like  a  fo'mast 
hand  on  night  lookout." 

"But  wasn't  it  splendid?"  explained  his  wife. 
"Weren't  they  cultivated,  brilliant  people?  You 
and  I  never  went  to  anything  like  that  dinner  before, 
Daniel  Dott." 

The  captain  admitted  that  they  never  did.  "Could 
you  make  anything  out  of  that  game  they  were 
playin'?"  he  asked.  "What  was  it  they  called  it?" 

123 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Bridge.  No,  I  couldn't,  but  I'm  going  to.  I'm 
.going  to  learn  it  just  as  soon  as  I  can.  Mrs.  Black 
!says  everybody  plays  it  now." 

^Her  husband  chuckled.  "Those  that  don't  play  it 
jhad  .better  not  try,"  he  observed.  "Judgin'  from 
,what  J  saw  to-night,  if  they  do  try  they  get  into 
trouble.  That  Lake  woman  was  givin'  that  poor 
little  bald-headed  fellow  she  was  playin'  with  fits 
.most  of  the  time.  Whenever  they  won  she  pattted 
herself  qn  the  back,  and  when  they  didn't  she  said 
(it  was  his  ;fault.  He  ought  to  have  'echoed'  or  hol 
lered  baek>— or  somethin'.  One  time  she  put  down 
a  card  and  he  put  another  kind  of  a  one  on  it,  and 
.she  glared  .at  him  and  said,  'Havin'  no  clubs?'  and 
,he  had  one  that  he'd  forgot.  He  spent  the  next  ten 
.minutes  beggin'  her  pardon,  but  'twas  a  good  thing 
jhe  didn't  liave  a  club.  She'd  have  used  it  on  him 
:if  vshe  had.  >He  was  all  shriveled  up  like  a  frost 
-bitten  cranberry. when  they  got  through/1 

After  ^hey  .were  in  bed  he  said,  "Serena,  what 
was  that  black  stuff  they  had  on  the  toast  at  the 
beginnin'  of , that  supper?  Looked  like  tar,  but  it 
tasted  kind  of  salty  and  good." 

"Don't  say  supper,  Daniel.  It  was  a  dinner.  All 
city  people  have  dinner  at  night.  That  was  caviar 
on  the  toast.  I've  read  about  it.  It  comes  from 
Russia." 

Silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Captain  Dan  said 
reflectively,  "Caviar?  .Caviar,  eh?  I've  heard  of 
that  somewhere  before;  where  was  it?  Yes,  yes,  I 
know.  'Twas  a  caviar  sandwich  the  waiter  asked 
that  young  fellow  I  met  in  the  Rat  Cellar  to  have. 
I  never  found  out, who  that  young  fellow  was,  and 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

yet  I  know  I've  met  him  somewhere  before.  I  wish 
I  could  remember  where  it  was.  My  memory  is 
failin'  me,  I  guess;  must  be  gettin'  old.  Can't  you 
remember,  Serena?" 

But  his  wife  bade  him  stop  talking  and  go  to 
sleep. 

The  next  day  there  were  more  calls,  and  Serena 
was  asked  to  attend  a  committee  meeting  as  a  guest. 
She  attended  it  and  returned  more  full  of  Chapter 
enthusiasm  than  ever.  She  announced  that  she  might 
be  asked  to  prepare  a  paper  to  be  read  before  the 
Chapter,  and  that  she  intended  to  study  and  prepare 
for  it.  Study  and  prepare  she  did,  and,  between 
dodging  callers,  or  helping  to  entertain  them,  and 
keeping  out  of  his  wife's  way  while  she  was  busy 
with  the  encyclopedias  which  she  had  taken  from 
the  library,  the  captain  began  to  feel  somewhat  de 
serted.  Hapgood's  company  was  too  stately  to  be 
congenial,  and  Daniel  sought  refuge  in  the  kitchen, 
where  Azuba.  as  usual,  was  always  ready  to  talk. 

Azuba  was  brimming  over  with  the  novelty  of  city 
life.  She  had  been  to  the  theater  once  already  since 
her  arrival,  and  to  the  moving  picture  show  three 
times. 

"Don't  talk  to  me"  she  said.  "If  them  pictures 
ain't  the  most  wonderful  things  that  ever  was,  then  / 
don't  know.  /  never  expected  to  see  such  sights — 
soldiers  paradin',  and  cowboys  a-ridin',  and  houses 
a-burnin',  and  Indians  scalpin'  'em !  I  was  so  worked 
up  I  hollered  right  out." 

"I  should  think  you  would.  An  Indian  scalpin' 
a  house  is  enough  to  make  anybody  holler." 

"They  didn't  scalp  the  house;  what  sort  of  fool- 
125 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

ishness  would  that  be — the  idea !  They  scalped  the 
folks  in  the  house.  That  is,  they  would  have  scalped 
'em,  only  along  come  the  cowboys  wavin'  pistols  and 
hurrahin' " 

"Could  you  hear  'em  hurrah?" 

"No,  but  I  could  see  'em.    And  the  way  they  went 

for  them  Indians  was  a  caution.     And Oh, 

say,  Captain  Dott,  there  was  one  set  of  pictures 
there  made  me  think  of  you.  'Twas  all  about  some 
people  that  wanted  to  go  into  society.  She  had  a 
paralyzed  father  and  they  had  a  child,  a  real  pretty 
girl,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  they  commenced  to 
neglect  their  child  and  go  off  playin'  cards  and 
dancin'  and  carousin'  around,  and  the  child  was 
took  down  sick  and  the  poor  paralyzed  grand 
father " 

"Grandfather?  Thought  you  said  it  was  a 
father." 

"  'Twas  the  woman's  father — the  child's  grand 
father.  Well,  anyhow,  the  poor  thing  had  to  take 
care  of  it,  and  the  nurse  went  to  sleep  and  the 
father  come  home  and  found  her  dyin' " 

"Who,  the  nurse?" 

"No,  no,  the  child.  The  nurse  wa'n't  sick;  but 
the  child  was  terrible  sick." 

"What  was  the  matter  with  the  child;  paralysis, 
too?" 

"I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  it. 
'Tain't  likely  't  was  paralysis.  You  get  me  so  mixed 
up  I  shan't  know  what  I  am  sayin'  pretty  soon. 
Well,  anyhow,  what  happened  was  that  the  child's 
mother  and  father  neglected  it  on  account  their 
fashionable  goin's-on,  and  the  child  up  and  died. 

126 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

'Twas  the  most  affectin'  thing.  There  was  the  child 
a-dyin',  and  the  mother  and  father  cryin',  and  the 
old  grandfather  goin'  all  to  pieces " 

"All  to  pieces !  That's  worse  than  paralysis. 
Hold  on  a  minute,  Azuba !  Was  all  this  in  the 
picture?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  paid  to  see  it?" 

"Course  I  paid  to  see  it.  They  wouldn't  let  me 
in  for  nothin',  'tain't  likely." 

"Well,  seems  to  me  you've  made  a  mistake.  If 
cryin'  and  misery  is  what  you  want,  I  don't  doubt 
you  can  find  a  lot  of  funerals  to  go  to  for  nothin*. 
But  what  was  there  about  all  this  mess  of  horrors 
that  made  you  think  of  me?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  unless  the  way  you  and  Mrs. 
Dott  are  goin'  in  for  society  in  Scarford.  Course 
your  child  is  grown  up,  so  that's  different,  though, 
ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  and  there  isn't  any  paralysis  in  the  family, 
so  far  as  I  know.  That's  a  mercy.  Don't  you  get 
paralysis,  Azuba.  If  you  do,  it  will  take  you  longer 
to  get  breakfast  than  it  does  now." 

"That's  all  right.  You  ought  to  be  thankful 
you've  got  me  to  get  breakfast.  If  I  wa'n't  here 
you'd  have  to  get  it  yourself,  I  cal'late.  Your 
wife's  too  busy  these  days,  and  that  Hapgood  man 
wouldn't  do  it.  I  know  that." 

Relations  between  the  butler  and  Azuba  were 
already  somewhat  strained.  He  considered  her  a 
rude  and  interfering  person  and  she  considered  that 
he  would  bear  watching. 

"He's  always  recommendin'  folks  for  us  to  trade 
127 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

with,"  she  told  Captain  Dan.  "What  business  is  it 
to  him  who  we  trade  with? — unless  he  gets  a  little 
somethin?  for  himself  out  of  it.  He  won't  do  it 
more  than  once — not  if  I  catch  him  at  it.  Don't 
talk  to  me  about  that  Hapgood!  I  wouldn't  trust 
one  of  them  foreigners,  anyhow." 

The  invitation  to  dine  with  the  Fenholtzes  came 
about  a  week  after  the  dinner  at  the  Blacks'.  Dan 
iel,  who  opened  the  letter  containing  the  invitation, 
was  very  much  pleased.  He  liked  the  Fenholtzes  at 
first  sight  and  felt  sure  he  should  like  them  better 
on  further  acquaintance.  But  when  Serena  came 
back  from  the  lodge  meeting — the  first  regular 
meeting  which  she  had  attended  since  becoming  a 
member — she  received  the  news  rather  coldly. 

"When  is  it  they  want  us?"  she  said.  "Next 
Tuesday  night?  Well,  we  could  go,  I  suppose,  but 
I  don't  believe  we  shall.  Mrs.  Lake  said  something 
about  coming  around  that  evening  to  help  me  read 
my  paper  and  criticise  it." 

The  captain  was  surprised  and  troubled.  "She 
could  come  some  other  time,  couldn't  she?  I  think 
'twas  real  kind  of  the  Fenholtzes  to  ask  us.  Seems 
to  me  we  ought  to  go.  You  and  I  haven't  even 
been  to  pay  back  that  call  yet." 

"I  know  it.  I've  meant  to,  but  I've  been  so  busy. 
Besides,  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  worth  while  or 
not.  The  Fenholtzes  have  got  a  great  deal  of 
money,  but  all  the  Chapter  people  say  they  are  sort 
of  back  numbers." 

However,  she  decided  to  accept  the  invitation, 
and  they  went  in  state.  But  the  state  was  largely 
on  their  part.  The  dinner  was  a  very  simple  affair 

128 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

compared  to  the  elaborate  spread  of  the  Blacks> 
and  the  two  or  three  people  whom  they  met  were: 
quite  different  from  Mrs.  Lake  and  her  friends. 
Captain  Dan  enjoyed  himself  hugely.  He  sat  next 
to  Mrs.  Fenholtz  at  the  table,  and  her  quiet  con 
versation  on  every-day  subjects  he  could  understand. 
Before  the  dinner  was  over  he  was  thoroughly  at 
ease,  and  when  later  on,  yi  company  with  the  Hon 
orable  Oscar  and  the  male  guests,  he  sat  smoking 
in  the  library,  he  found  himself  spinning  yarns  and 
joking  as  freely  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  back  room 
of  the  Metropolitan  Store  in  Trumet.  The  shouts 
of  laughter  from  the  library  could  be  heard  in  the 
parlor,  and  Serena  grew  nervous. 

"Your  husband  must  be  very  entertaining,"  said 
Mrs.  Fenholtz.  "I  haven't  heard  Mr.  Fenholtz- 
laugh  so  heartily  in  a  long  time." 

Mrs.  Dott  was  fearful  that  Daniel  might  be 
making  himself  ridiculous.  She  didn't  mention  her' 
fears.  Her  own  remarks  were  delivered  with  a 
great  deal  of  dignity,  and  she  quoted  Mrs.  Black 
and  the  encyclopedia  often.  On  the  way  home  she 
took  her  husband  to  task. 

"What  in  the  world  were  you  talking  about  with 
those  men?"  she  demanded.  "I  never  heard  such 
a  noise  as  they  made.  I  do  hope  you  didn't  forget 
yourself." 

The  captain  rubbed  his  chin.  "I  don't  know  but 
what  I  did  forget  myself,  Serena,"  he  replied.  "I 
know  I  had  a  good  time  and  never  thought  about 
my  clothes  after  the  first  ten  minutes.  Could  you 
hear  'em  laughin'  ?  I  was  tellin'  em'  about  Azuba's 
goin'  to  the  movin'  pictures  then." 

129 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

His  wife  was  shocked.  "And  Azuba  is  our  cook," 
she  said,  "and  they  know  it.  I  don't  know  what 
sort  of  servants  they  think  we  have.  They  must 
think  you're  pretty  familiar  with  them." 

"Good  land,  Serena !  I've  been  familiar  with 
Zuba  all  my  life.  If  I  was  to  put  on  airs  with  her 
she'd  take  me  down  in  a  hurry." 

Mrs.  Dott  sighed.  "I'm  afraid  you  did  forget 
yourself,"  she  declared.  "I  think  if  you  could  hear 
what  the  Fenholtzes  are  saying  about  us  now  you'd 
be  ashamed.  I'm  sure  I  should." 

And  at  that  very  moment  Mr.  Fenholtz  was  say 
ing:  "That  man  Dott  is  all  right.  I  have  not 
laughed  so  for  years.  And  he  has  common  sense, 
too.  I  like  him." 

His  wife  nodded.  "So  do  I,"  she  said;  "and  I 
think  I  should  like  Mrs.  Dott,  too,  if  she  had  not 
been  spoiled  by  Annette  Black  and  the  rest  of  those 
foolish  women  she  associates  with.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  Mrs.  Dott  is  completely  spoiled  yet,  but 
she  will  be  soon,  I'm  afraid,  unless  I  can  make  her 
realize  that  she  is  beginning  all  wrong  here  in  Scar- 
ford.  If  she  could  only  have  gone  to  the  Woman's 
Club  first  I  think  she  might  understand,  but  now 
I'm  afraid  it's  too  late." 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  Chapter  Serena  read 
her  paper.  She  mounted  the  platform  with  fear 
and  trembling.  She  left  it  exalted  and  triumphant. 
The  paper  had  been  applauded  and  she  had  been 
congratulated  by  her  fellow  members.  Annette  was 
enthusiastic  and  Mrs.  Lake  and  the  other  leaders 
equally  so.  Stories  of  the  "vast"  wealth  inherited 
by  the  Dotts  had  been  circulated  freely,  and  these, 

130 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

quite  as  much  as  the  wonderful  paper,  were  respon 
sible  for  Serena's  bound  into  popularity. 

But  the  popularity  wis  there,  and  the  unconscious 
Serena  believed  it  to  be  real.  That  meeting  was  the 
beginning  of  her  obsession.  Thereafter  she  talked 
chapter  and  society  and  opportunity  and  advance 
ment,  and  ate  them  and  drank  them,  too — at  least 
the  meals — those  at  home — seemed  to  the  captain 
to  be  made  up  of  very  little  else.  Their  evenings 
alone  together  became  few  and  fewer.  When  they 
were  not  entertaining  callers  they  were  calling.  Cap 
tain  Dan  actually  began  to  feel  at  home  in  his 
evening  clothes;  a  good  deal  more  than  he  did  in 
his  night  clothes,  so  he  told  his  wife.  Breakfast, 
which,  in  the  beginning  of  their  Scarford  residence, 
had  been  served  at  seven-thirty,  was  now  an  hour 
later,  and  even  then  Daniel  frequently  ate  alone. 

Then  came  the  reception  idea.  Annette — she  and 
Mrs.  Dott  were  calling  each  other  by  their  Chris 
tian  names  now- -had  dropped  the  hint  concerning 
it.  She  had  said  that  a  good  way  in  which  to  repay 
social  obligations  was  by  doing  it  all  at  once,  by 
giving  a  dinner,  or  reception,  or  a  tea,  to  which 
everyone  should  be  invited.  Serena  decided  that 
the  reception  was  perhaps  the  better,  all  things  con 
sidered.  And  so  preparations  for  the  reception  be 
gan.  There  was  to  be  a  collation,  and  when  this 
item  of  information  was  imparted  to  Azuba  the 
kitchen  became  a  maelstrom  of  activity  in  which 
Captain  Daniel  could  no  longer  find  rest  and  refuge. 

"But,  Zuba,"  he  remonstrated,  "what  do  you 
think's  'omin'  here;  a  drove  of  hyenas?  You've 
cooked,  enough  already  to  victual  a  ship  halfway 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

across  the  ocean.  These  folks  eat  sometimes  at 
home.  You  don't  think  they're  comin'  here  to  make 
up  for  six  months'  starvation,  do  you?" 

"Don't  talk  to  me!"  was  all  the  satisfaction  he 
got.  "I've  heard  about  what  they  had  to  eat  over 
there  at  Barney  Black's,  and  I  don't  mean  for  folks 
to  say  that  they  went  hungry  when  they  come  here. 
Don't  say  another  word.  I  don't  know  now  whether 
it  was  a  cup  full  of  sugar  or  a  pinch  of  salt  I  put 
in,  or  the  other  way  'round.  Cookin'  1  Don't  talk 
to  me." 

The  captain  found  it  practically  impossible  to 
talk  to  anybody.  Hapgood  was  busy;  Serena  was 
busier,  and  Azuba  was  busiest  of  all.  Wherever 
he  went  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  way,  and  when  he 
fled  for  walks  up  and  down  the  streets  the  crowds 
of  strange  faces  made  him  feel  lonelier  than  ever. 
On  the  evening  before  that  upon  which  the  recep 
tion  waa  to  be  held  he  returned  from  one  of  these 
walks  to  find  Serena  in  tears. 

"Why,  good  gracious  sakes!"  he  exclaimed. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter!"  sobbed  his  wife.  "Oh,  dear  me! 
Everything  is  the  matter  I  I'm  so  tired  I  don't  know 
what  to  do,  and  Annette  and  Mrs.  Lake  were  com 
ing  here  to-morrow  to  help  me,  and  now  they  can't 
come.  They'll  be  at  the  reception,  of  course,  but 
they  can't  come  before;  and  there's  so  much  to  get 
ready  and  I  don't  know  whether  I'm  doing  it  right 
or  not.  What  shall  I  do!" 

Daniel  shook  his  head.  "Seems  to  me  I'd  do 
the  best  I  could  and  let  it  go  at  that,"  he  advised. 
"If  they  ain't  satisfied  I'd  let  'em  stay  the  other 

132 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

way.  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  but  I  don't  know 
how." 

"Of  course  you  don't.  You  don't  have  any  sym 
pathy  for  the  whole  thing,  and  I  know  it.  I  feel  it 
all  the  time.  You  haven't  any  sympathy  for  me." 

The  captain  sighed.  He  had  a  vague  feeling  that 
he  could  use  a  little  sympathy  himself,  but  with 
characteristic  unselfishness  he  put  that  idea  from 
his  mind. 

"I  guess  what  you  need  is  a  manager,"  he  said. 
"Somebody  that's  used  to  these  sort  of  things  that 
could  help  you  out.  I  wish  I  knew  where  there 
was  one." 

Hapgood  appeared  and  announced  that  dinner 
was  served.  Serena  hurriedly  dried  her  eyes  and 
they  descended  to  the  dining-room.  Just  as  they 
were  about  to  take  their  seats  at  the  table  the  door 
bell  rang.  Hapgood  left  the  room  and  returned 
a  few  moments  later  bearing  a  card  on  a  tray. 
Serena  took  the  card,  looked  at  it,  and  then  at  her 
husband.  Her  face  expressed  astonishment  and 
dismay. 

"Why,  Daniel!"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath. 
"Why,  Daniel!  Who  do  you  suppose  is  here?" 

Her  husband  announced  that  he  didn't  know.  He 
took  the  card  from  her  hand  and  looked  at  it.  It 
was  a  very  simple  but  very  correct  card,  and  upon 
it  in  old  English  script  was  the  name  "Mr.  Percy 
Hungerford." 

Daniel's  face  reflected  the  astonishment  upon  his 
wife's. 

"My  soul!"  he  muttered.  "Percy  Hungerford! 
Why,  that's — that's  the  cousin;  the  one  Aunt  La- 

133 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

viny  cut  out  of  her  will;  the  one  that  would  have 
had  all  this  place  and  all  the  money  if  we  hadn't 
got  it.  I  thought  he  was  in  New  York  somewhere. 
Black  said  he  was,  and  now  he's  here.  What  in 
the  world  does  he  want?" 

Mrs.  Dott  rose.  "I  do'n't  know,"  she  gasped. 
"I  can't  imagine.  But  I  suppose  we  must  see  him. 
We've  got  to.  Did  you  ask  him  to  wait,  Hap- 
good?" 

Hapgood  bowed  respectfully.  "Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  is  in  the  drawing-room,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

To  the  drawing-room  moved  Serena,  followed  by 
her  husband. 

"Gbod  evening,  Mr.  Hungerford,"  said  the  lady, 
with  a  partially  successful  attempt  at  calmness. 
"How  do  you  do?  My  husband  and  I " 

She  paused.  The  expression  on  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford's  face  was  an  odd  one.  She  turned  to  Daniel, 
and  his  expression  was  odder  still.  He  was  standing 
in  the  doorway  gazing  at  the  visitor,  his  eyes  opening 
wider  and  wider. 

Mr.  Percy  Hungerford  was  the  young  man  whom 
his  friend  had  addressed  as  "Tacks,"  the  young 
man  with  whom  Captain  Dan  had  exchanged  re 
partee  in  the  Rathskeller  of  the  Palatine  Hotel. 


CHAPTER   VII 

OF  the  two  men,  Mr.  Hungerford  was  the 
first  to  recover  presence  of  mind.  Pres 
ence  of  mind  was  one  of  the  qualities  upon 
which  he  prided  himself,  and  it  was  a  very  awk 
ward  situation  to  which  he  could  not  rise.  For  just 
an  instant  the  color  rushed  to  his  cheeks  as  he 
recognized  the  captain  and  saw  that  the  latter  recog 
nized  him.  Then: 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Captain  Dott?"  he  said. 
"By  Jove,  this  is  extraordinary,  isn't  it!  Strange 
that  relatives  shouldn't  know  each  other  when  they 
meet.  How  do  you  do?" 

He  stepped  forward  with  extended  hand.  Cap 
tain  Dan,  who  had  expected  almost  anything  but 
this  bland  cordiality,  scarcely  knew  what  to  say  or 
do.  He  took  the  proffered  hand  mechanically  and 
dropped  it  again. 

"Well!"  he  stammered.  "Well!— I  declare  I— I 
didn't  expect  to " 

He  paused.  Mrs.  Dott,  who  had  been  watching 
this  scene  in  bewilderment,  spoke  before  he  could 
finish  his  sentence. 

"Why,  what  is  it?"  she  asked.    "Have  you " 

Mr.  Hungerford  smiled.  "Your  husband  and  I 
have  met  before,"  he  explained.  "Just  a  casual 
meeting  and  we  weren't  aware  of  each  other's  iden 
tity.  I'm  afraid  I  was  not  as  cordial  as  I  might 

135 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  been  on  that  occasion,  Captain.  I  was  a  bit 
tired  and  rather  out  of  sorts.  I  hope  you'll  forgive 
me,  I'm  sure." 

Daniel  hesitated;  then  he  smiled. 

"Why,  I  guess  I  can  forgive  my  half  if  you  can 
yours,"  he  said  slowly. 

Before  the  puzzled  Serena  could  ask  another 
question  the  visitor  turned  to  her. 

"I'm  sure  you  must  be  very  much  surprised  to 
see  me  here,"  he  said.  "I'm  somewhat  surprised 
to  be  here  myself.  I've  spent  a  greater  part  of 
the  past  month  in  New  York  and  have  only  just 
returned — that  is,  to  stay.  I  fully  intended  to  call 
before,  and  should  if  I  had  been  in  town.  How  are 
you  getting  on?  How  do  you  like  the  dear 
old  place?  Ah!"  with  a  sigh,  as  he  seated  him 
self  and  looked  about  him,  "how  familiar  it  all 
seems!" 

The  Dotts  looked  at  each  other.  Serena  sank 
into  a  chair.  Captain  Dan  remained  standing. 

"Does  it?"  said  the  former  rather  feebly. 

"Indeed  it  does.  One  almost  expects  to  see 
Auntie  coming  in  at  the  door.  Dear  old  Auntie  i 
I  can  scarcely  realize  that  she  has  gone." 

Again  Serena  looked  at  Daniel  and  he  at  her. 
This  was  so  strange,  so  different  from  the  attitude 
which  a  disappointed  legatee  might  be  expected  to 
assume  that  neither  of  the  pair  knew  exactly  how 
to  reply.  But  Mr.  Hungerford  did  not  appear  to 
notice  the  look  or  the  hesitation. 

"This  house  seems  like  home  to  me,"  he  said. 
"I've  spent  so  many  happy  hours  here.  When  old 
Hapgood  opened  the  door  for  me  I  almost  ordered 

136 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

him  to  take  my  bags  to  my  room.  Really  I  did. 
That  would  have  been  droll,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  laughed  languidly.  Serena  admitted  that  it 
would  have  been  droll.  Captain  Dan  remained 
silent  as  before. 

"Are — are  you  stopping  at  the  hotel?"  queried 
Mrs.  Dott. 

"Not  yet.  In  fact,  I'm  not  really  stopping 
anywhere.  I've  just  arrived.  I  must  be  hurrying 
back  to  dinner,  I  suppose,  but  I  couldn't  resist 
coming  here  first.  It  seemed  the  natural  thing  to 
do." 

Voices  were  heard  in  the  hall.  One  of  the  voices 
was  Azuba's;  she  was  informing  Mr.  Hapgood  that 
if  that  soup  didn't  go  back  on  the  stove  pretty  soon 
it  might  just  as  well  be  on  ice.  The  words  were 
distinctly  audible,  and  Serena  colored.  Mr.  Hun- 
gerford  rose. 

"I'm  sure  I  must  be  keeping  you  from  your  own 
dinner,"  he  said.  "Don't  let  me  do  that  for  the 
world." 

"Why — why "  faltered  Serena.     She  looked 

appealingly  at  Daniel,  and  the  latter's  instinctive 
hospitality  asserted  itself.  He  had  disliked  the 
young  man  "Tacks"  when  he  met  him  in  the  Rath 
skeller.  Now  that  "Tacks"  had  become  Mr.  Percy 
Hungerford,  Aunt  Lavinia's  cousin  and  his  own  dis 
tant  relative,  the  dislike  was  only  partially  abated. 
But  to  turn  him  away  from  the  door  hungry  seemed 
wrong  somehow. 

"Hadn't  you  better "  he  began. 

"Have  dinner  with  us?"  finished  his  wife. 

Mr.  Hungerford  protested. 
137 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  he  declared.  "No 
doubt  you  have  guests •  •-" 

"Oh,  no,  we  haven't.  We're  all  alone  and  it 
would  be  no  trouble  at  all.  We  should  like  to  have 
you  stay.  Shouldn't  we,  Daniel?" 

"Sartin,  no  trouble  at  all,"  said  Daniel  heartily. 
"Like  to  have  you  first  rate." 

"Well,  if  you  insist.  It  is  a  frightful  imposi 
tion — I  shouldn't  think  of  it,  of  course,  but — well, 
thank  you  so  much." 

So  Hapgood  received  orders  to  lay  another  plate, 
and  Mr.  Hungerford,  still  murmuring  protests,  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  conducted  to  the  dining-room. 

All  through  the  meal  the  captain  regarded  him 
with  puzzled  curiosity.  That  he  had  come  to  the 
house  merely  for  a  friendly  call  he  could  scarcely 
believe.  He  had  heard  little  or  nothing  of  the 
conversation  between  Hungerford  and  his  friend 
at  the  table  in  the  Rathskeller,  and  yet  the  attitude 
of  the  former  on  that  occasion  had  not  indicated  a 
temperament  likely  to  forgive  "dear  Aunt  Lavinia" 
so  freely  or  to  display  such  angelic  cordiality  toward 
those  who  had  come  into  possession  of  her  property. 
But  the  cordiality  remained  unchanged,  and  the 
visitor,  so  far  from  bearing  a  grudge  toward  his 
more  fortunate  relatives,  continued  to  treat  them  as 
though  they  were  near  and  dear  friends,  and  do 
everything  in  his  power  to  relieve  their  constraint 
and  to  make  himself  agreeable.  The  dinner  ended 
and  they  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  with  Cap 
tain  Dan's  mental  question  "What  in  the  world  is 
this  young  chap  really  up  to?"  still  unanswered. 

Serena  had  asked  herself  that  same  question  when 
138 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  caller  first  came,  but  now  she  was  beginning  to 
be  ashamed  of  her  suspicions  and  to  think  them 
unfounded.  Mr.  Hungerford  was  agreeable;  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  Also  he  was  good-looking, 
in  an  effeminate  sort  of  way,  and  his  conversation 
was  fluent  and  cultured.  He  led  Serena  into  speak 
ing  of  the  Chapter  and  her  work  there,  and 
he  displayed  a  knowledge  of  and  an  interest  in 
that  Chapter  and  its  members  which  was  very  grati 
fying. 

The  coming  reception  was  mentioned,  and  the 
visitor's  interest  in  that  was  more  gratifying  still. 
It  was  evident  that  receptions  and  society  functions 
generally  were  matters  of  every  day,  or  every  night, 
occurrence  to  him.  He  asked  Mrs.  Dott  who  was 
to  assist  her  in  receiving,  and  when  she  answered  the 
question  his  approval  of  the  selections  was  unqual 
ified.  He  suggested  one  or  two  little  ideas  which  he 
said  might  add  to  making  the  affair  a  success. 
Serena  welcomed  the  suggestions  as  a  starving  man 
might  welcome  a  meal. 

"That'll  be  lovely,"  she  said,  "and  we  can  do  it 
just  as  well  as  not.  And  I  had  thought  of  having 
some  bridge  or  something  afterwards;  but  Annette 
• — Mrs.  Black,  I  mean — didn't  seem  to  think  bridge 
would  be  just  the  thing  after  a  reception.  And 
there's  music;  I  know  we  really  ought  to  have  music, 
and  I  had  meant  to  have  somebody  play  the  piano. 
But  the  woman  I  wanted  can't  come,  and  now  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  What  would  you  think  about  that, 
Mr.  Hungerford?" 

Mr.  Hungerford  suggested  hiring  one  or  two  pro 
fessional  musicians.  "A  violinist,  or  harpist,  or 

139 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

both,  perhaps,"  he  said.  "Music  is  always,  as  you 
say,  a  great  addition  to  such  affairs,  Mrs.  Dott.  I 
happen  to  know  of  a  young  fellow  who  plays  excep 
tionally  well,  and  his  sister  is  really  a  very  ac 
complished  performer  on  the  harp.  Of  course 
they  should  be  engaged  in  merely  a  professional 
capacity.  They  are  not  persons  who  would  mingle 
with  our  set,  but  they're  not  at  all  objectionable, 
really." 

The  diplomatic  phrasing  of  this  remark  had  its 
effect.  It  indicated  that  Mrs.  Dott's  "set"  was  an 
exclusive  one  and,  incidentally,  that  the  accomplished 
and  polished  Mr.  Hungerford  considered  his  host 
and  hostess  as  social  equals. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Serena.  "I  think  that  will 
be  just  fine.  And  you  are  the  first  one,  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford,  to  think  of  it.  Do  you  suppose  you  could  get 
these — these — er — persons  you  speak  of  to  come 
and  play  for  us?" 

"I  think  so.  I  have  befriended  the  young  man  in 
various  ways,  and  he  is,  if  you  will  excuse  my  saying 
so,  under  some  obligations  to  me.  I  should  be  glad 
to  make  the  attempt  if  you  wish  it,  Mrs.  Dott." 

"Cost  somethin',  won't  it?"  observed  Captain 
Dan  casually.  Mr.  Hungerford  regarded  him  with 
well-bred  surprise. 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  said,  "there  will  be  some 
expense.  I  think  fifty  dollars  will  cover  the  bill. 
The  usual  rate  for  musicians  of  their  class  is  some 
what  higher.7' 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  captain  was  sur 
prised.  'Tifty  dollars!"  he  repeated.  "Why " 

His  wife  interrupted.  "That  will  be  all  right, 
140 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Hungerford,"  she  said.  "That  will  be  quite 
satisfactory." 

"Of  course,  there  are  many  whom  you  can  obtain 
for  less,  and,  if  you  feel  that  that  figure  is  too  high, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  try  elsewhere.  I  have  had  little 
experience  outside  of  the  best,  but " 

Serena  interrupted  again.  "We  don't  want  any 
body  but  the  best,"  she  declared,  emphatically.  "Be 
still,  Daniel.  This  isn't  Trumet." 

Daniel  drew  a  long  breath.  "There  ain't  much 
doubt  of  that,"  he  observed.  "But,  all  right,  Serena, 
if  you  and  Mr.  Hungerford  think  it's  all  right,  I 
guess  it  is.  I'm  more  used  to  hirin'  sailors  than  I 
am  folks  to  play  the  harp." 

"Music,"  went  on  Mr.  Hungerford,  "is  almost  a 
necessity,  in  these  days,  when  everyone  dances.  Is 
this  a  formal  reception,  or  had  you  intended  clear 
ing  a  floor  for  dancing,  Mrs.  Dott?" 

Mrs.  Dott  had  not  intended  any  such  thing; 
she  had  not  thought  of  it.  But  she  concealed  the 
fact  from  her  visitor  with  remarkable  presence  of 
mind. 

"Oh,  of  course!"  she  said. 

The  conversation  continued,  a  conversation  lim 
ited  to  Mr.  Hungerford  and  his  hostess,  while  Cap 
tain  Dan  remained  a  silent  and  amazed  listener. 
The  young  gentleman  was  invited  to  attend  the  re 
ception,  Serena  making  many  apologies  for  the  in 
formality  of  the  invitation,  and  the  guest  expressing 
himself  as  delighted. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "I  wouldn't  intrude  for  the 
world,  but  I  don't  feel  like  an  intruder  in  this  house, 
where  I  have  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  Feeling 

141 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

as  I  do,  I'm  going  to  make  another  suggestion  which, 
under  different  circumstances,  might  be  considered 
an  impertinence.  I  am  at  leisure  to-morrow — in 
fact,  all  this  week — and  if  there  is  anything  that  I 
can  do  to  help  you  and  Cousin  Daniel,  in  this  matter 
of  the  reception  or  any  other,  I  shall  be  at  your 
service.  I  do  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  help  and 
that  you  will  not  consider  me  presuming  in  offering 
to  do  so." 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  offer  was  very  wel 
come.  Mrs.  Dott  accepted  it  with  enthusiasm  and 
called  upon  her  husband  to  confirm  the  acceptance. 
He  did  so,  but  with  less  warmth,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  the  obliging  Mr.  Hungerford  should  drop  in 
the  next  morning  after  calling  upon  his  protege,  the 
violinist.  A  half  hour  later  he  said  "Good-night," 
and  departed. 

"There !"  said  Serena.  "If  that  isn't  Providence, 
then  I  don't  know.  And  it  only  goes  to  show  how 
one  person  can  misjudge  another  without  knowing 
anything  about  him.  I've  always  had  a  prejudice 
against  that  Mr.  Hungerford  simply  because  of 
what  you  told  me  of  meeting  him  years  ago,  and 
now  I  don't  think  I  ever  met  a  kinder,  nicer  young 
man.  Did  you,  Daniel?" 

The  captain  hesitated.  "I — I,"  he  stammered, 
"well,  Serena,  I  will  give  in  that  he  seemed  nice  and 
obligin'  enough  to-night,  but  you  see  there's  just  one 
thing  that " 

Serena  turned  on  him.  "Yes,  I  know,"  she  said. 
"There's  always  'one  thing'  about  everybody  that  / 
like.  He's  smart  and  bright  and  well  dressed  and 
polite.  He's  a  gentleman!  and  a  different  kind 

142 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

from  any  that  we've  ever  met.  That  makes  you 
suspicious,  of  course." 

"Now  you  know  it  isn't  that;  but — but " 

"But  what?" 

There  was  more  hesitation  on  the  captain's  part. 
He  had  intended  to  tell  of  the  meeting  at  the  Raths 
keller;  then  he  remembered  the  young  man's  explan 
ation  and  apology  and  thought  better  of  it.  He  and 
"Cousin  Percy"  might  have  another  interview  on 
the  morrow.  Meanwhile,  he  would  keep  still,  par 
ticularly  as  his  wife  seemed  to  have  forgotten  their 
caller's  reference  to  the  meeting.  He  finished  his 
sentence  in  another  way. 

"But  I  don't  see  what  he  came  here  for,"  he  said. 

"He  came  here  to  see  us.  And,  I  think,  consider 
ing  how  he  was  treated  in  Aunt  Lavinia's  will,  it 
was  awfully  nice  of  him  to  come  at  all.  And,  as  for 
helping  me  out  on  that  reception,  he's  been  a  perfect 
godsend  already.  I  should  think  you  would  appre 
ciate  it," 

Before  the  next  day  was  over,  and  long  before 
the  first  of  the  evening's  guests  arrived,  the  services 
of  the  new-found  friend  of  the  family  were  appre 
ciated  even  by  the  reluctant  Daniel.  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  came  early  and  proceeded  immediately  to  make 
himself  useful.  He  had  seen  the  violinist,  and  the 
latter  and  his  sister  had  promised  to  be  on  hand. 
He  took  Hapgood  in  charge  and  superintended  the 
arranging  of  the  drawing-room  and  the  library  for 
the  reception  and  the  dancing.  When  the  messenger 
from  the  florist  came  with  the  flowers  which  Serena, 
acting  upon  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Lake  and  Mrs. 
Black,  had  ordered,  he  saw  that  they  were  placed 

143 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

in  exactly  the  right  positions  for  effect.  Being  urged 
to  stay  for  lunch,  he  stayed.  And  his  conversation 
during  the  meal  was  so  fluent,  so  aristocratic  in 
flavor,  and  yet  so  friendly,  that  Serena  became  more 
and  more  taken  with  him.  With  the  captain  he 
was  not  quite  as  much  at  his  ease.  But  he  did  his 
best  to  be  agreeable,  and  Daniel,  still  vaguely  sus 
picious,  found  nothing  tangible  upon  which  to  base 
distrust.  There  was  so  much  to  be  done  in  the  after 
noon  that,  acting  upon  a  hint  so  delicate  that  it  could 
scarcely  be  called  a  hint,  Mrs.  Dott  urged  him  to 
send  to  the  hotel  for  his  bag  and  stay  at  their  home 
overnight.  He  accepted  and  was  even  busier  than 
he  had  been  during  the  forenoon  session.  He  was 
never  so  busy  as  to  perform  manual  labor  with  his 
own  hands — he  never  stooped  to  that  extent — but 
he  managed  to  convey  the  impression  of  being  al 
ways  ready  and  always  helpful. 

To  say  that  Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Lake  were, 
upon  their  arrival,  surprised  to  find  him  there  would 
be  expressing  their  feelings  far  too  mildly.  They 
knew  Mr.  Hungerford,  but,  heretofore,  that  gentle 
man  had  moved  in  circles  other  than  their  own.  It 
is  true  that  he  belonged  to  the  same  club  as  did  Mr. 
Black,  but  Mr.  Hungerford's  friends  had  been 
younger,  the  ultra-fashionable  set,  the  set  which 
Annette  had  characterized  as  "rather  fast"  but 
which,  because  of  its  money  and  society  connections, 
she  secretly  envied.  To  find  him  here,  an  associate 
and  friend  of  the  people  she  had  called  "countri 
fied,"  was  most  astonishing.  She  wondered,  but  she 
could  not  help  being  impressed,  and  her  attitude 
toward  her  dear  friend  Serena  was  never  so  gush- 

144 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

ingly  cordial.  As  for  Mr.  Hungerford,  he  greeted 
the  Chapter  representatives  with  condescending  ur 
banity.  When  the  reception  began,  somehow  or 
other,  Cousin  Percy  was  in  the  receiving  line. 

Captain  Dan,  uncomfortably  starched  and  broad- 
clothed,  received  likewise,  but  his  remarks  to  those 
who  pressed  his  hand  and  murmured  compliments 
were  rather  commonplace  and  very  much  alike;  this 
consisted  principally  of  "How  d'ye  do's"  and  "Glad 
to  see  you's" ;  and  it  was  only  when  the  Honorable 
and  Mrs.  Fenholtz  came  that  he  appeared  to  re 
member  anything  else.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Fenholtz  were  as  surprised  as  the  rest  to  see 
Mr.  Hungerford  there.  The  Honorable,  seizing 
an  opportunity  when  the  captain  was  for  a  moment 
alone,  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Where  did  he  come  from?"  he  asked,  with  a 
jerk  of  the  head  in  Cousin  Percy's  direction. 

"Him?"  replied  Daniel.  "Oh,  he  came  last 
night." 

"Is  that  so?    Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"Well,  he  ain't — isn't  exactly  a  friend,  I  guess. 
He's  a  sort  of  relation,  a  nephew  of  Aunt  Laviny's." 

"Oh,  oh,  I  see— I  see." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  which  caused 
Captain  Dan  to  ask  a  question  in  return. 

"Know  him,  do  you?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  I  know  him,  but — it  is  all  right,  Olga;  I'm 
coming." 

He  passed  on  to  make  room  for  another  assort 
ment  of  new  arrivals,  lady  members  of  the  Chapter, 
and  Daniel's  curiosity  remained  unsatisfied. 

After  the  reception  proper,  came  a  social  and,  to 
145 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Daniel,  very  uncomfortable  hour,  and  then  Mr. 
Hungerford,  who  seemed  to  have  taken  upon  him 
self  the  position  of  master  of  ceremonies,  suggested 
dancing. 

Of  all  the  captain's  society  experiences  so  far, 
this  was  the  most  amazing.  He  had  danced  in  his 
younger  days,  it  is  true,  but  his  were  dances  of  quite 
another  variety.  Quadrilles  and  Virginia  reels  he 
was  acquainted  with,  but  tangos  and  Bostons  and 
all  the  infinite  varieties  of  the  one-step  were  to  him 
revelations,  and  revelations  of  a  kind  which  caused 
him  to  gasp.  He  saw  middle-aged  matrons  dipping 
and  hopping  and  twisting  about  the  room  in  com 
pany  with  middle-aged,  stout,  red-faced  men  who 
looked  as  if  on  the  verge  of  apoplexy.  He  saw  Mr, 
Hungerford  laboring  dutifully  to  pilot  a  woman  of 
forty  through  the  sinuosities  of  the  "hesitation 
waltz,"  and  when  the  lady,  who  was  inclined  toward 
plumpness,  had  collapsed  into  an  armchair,  he 
sought  out  her  late  partner  and  vented  his  feelings. 

"For  the  land  sakesl"  he  demanded;  "what  did 
you  do  that  for?" 

"Do  what?"  inquired  Mr.  Hungerford,  himself 
as  fresh  and  unwilted  as  an  Easter  lily. 

"Why,  that — to  her.  Look  at  her,  she's  pretty 
nigh  gone !  She  ain't  caught  more  than  two  breaths 
in  the  last  minute  and  a  half.  I've  been  watchin* 
her." 

Cousin  Percy  condescended  to  smile.  "It's  her 
own  fault,"  he  observed.  "She  said  she  was  dying 
to  learn  the  'hesitation'  and  asked  me  to  teach  it  to 
her." 

"Well,  she  ought  to  be  satisfied.  If  she  was  dyin' 
146 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

before,  she's  pretty  near  dead  now.  Why  didn't 
you  stop  sooner?  She  all  but  capsized  a  dozen  times 
in  the  last  two  or  three  turns  you  and  she  took 
around  the  room." 

Percy's  smile  became  broader.  "That  is  all  part 
of  the  dance,"  he  explained.  "Watch  this  couple 
here." 

Daniel  watched  as  directed.  The  couple  were  a 
young  man  and  a  girl  about  Gertrude's  age.  They 
were  doing  the  "hesitation"  with  the  hesitancy  em 
phasized. 

"My  soul!"  muttered  the  captain.  "Where's 
that  girl's  mother?  Somebody  ought  to  tell  her." 

Hungerford  smiled  once  more.  "That  was  her 
mother  I  was  dancing  with,"  he  said. 

"Good  Lord !"  exclaimed  Daniel.  It  was  the  only 
comment  he  made.  He  watched  the  rest  of  the 
dancing  in  silence. 

The  collation  followed  the  dancing,  and  Azuba 
and  Mr.  Hapgood  served  it,  assisted  by  four  waiters 
who,  at  Mr.  Hungerford's  suggestion,  had  been 
hired  for  the  occasion.  The  butler's  serving  was 
done  with  grace  and  elegance,  not  to  mention  dig 
nity.  Azuba  served  as  if  the  main  object  to  be 
attained  was  to  provide  each  guest  with  as  much 
food  as  possible  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  She 
was  arrayed  in  a  new  black  gown,  worn  under  pro 
test,  for  her  own  idea  had  been  to  wear  her  Sunday 
dress,  a  vivid  purple,  with  trimmings  which,  for 
color  and  variety,  looked  "like  a  patchwork  tidy," 
as  Captain  Dan  expressed  it.  Also,  under 
still  greater  protest,  she  wore  a  white  apron  and 
cap. 

147 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  feel  like  my  grandmother  doin'  dishes,"  Azuba 
declared  when  Mrs.  Dott  brought  the  cap  and  apron 
to  her  and  insisted  on  a  dress  rehearsal.  "The  old 
woman  lived  to  be  ninety-five  and  wore  a  cap  for  all 
the  world  like  this  one  for  thirty  year.  She  had 
some  excuse  for  wearin'  it — it  hid  the  place  where 
her  hair  was  thin  on  top.  But  I  ain't  bald  and  I 
ain't  ninety-five  neither.  And  why  in  the  world  you 
want  me  to  put  an  apron  on  in  the  parlor,  /  don't 
see.  You've  been  preachin'  at  me  to  leave  one  off 
till  I  was  just  rememberin'  to  do  it,  and  now  you 
want  me  to  put  it  on  again." 

"Not  this  kind  of  an  apron,  Azuba.  Mrs.  Black's 
maids  wear  aprons  like  that,  and  so  do  Mrs.  Fen- 
holtz's.  It's  the  proper  thing  and  I  expect  you  to 
do  it." 

"Humph !  All  right.  Land  knows  I  don't  want 
to  be  improper.  But  I'd  just  like  to  ask  you  this: 
Does  that  Fenholtz  hired  help  have  to  wear  black 
clothes  like  this  dress?" 

"Yes,  always." 

"Well,  then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  do  the  same, 
but  I  hope  they  don't  feel  as  much  like  bein'  in 
mournin'  as  I  do.  I  thought  this  reception  thing 
was  supposed  to  be  a  good  time,  but  when  I  looked 
at  myself  in  the  glass  just  now,  all  I  could  think  of 
was  the  Trumet  post-office  draped  up  for  President 
McKinley's  funeral.  I  suppose  it's  style,  so  it'll 
have  to  be.  But  if  Labe,  my  husband,  should  see 
me  now,  he'd  have  a  shock,  I  guess.  Cal'late  he'd 
think  he  was  dead  and  I'd  got  word  of  it  afore  he 
did." 

But  the  food  was  good  and  the  guests  seemed  to 
148 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

enjoy  it.  Some  of  them  seemed  to  enjoy  Azuba, 
and  Mr.  Fenholtz  was  observed  by  the  indignant 
Serena  to  laugh  heartily  every  time  the  transformed 
maid-of-all-work  addressed  him. 

As  they  were  leaving  he  said  to  Captain  Dan-. 
"Captain,  that  maid  of  yours  is  a  wonder.  If  you 
ever  want  to  get  rid  of  her,  let  me  know.  I  thought 
Mrs.  Fenholtz  and  I  had  tried  every  variety  of 
servant,  but  she  is  something  fresh." 

Daniel  grinned.  "She's  fresh  enough,  if  that's 
all  you  want,"  he  admitted.  "That's  the  main 
trouble  with  her,  accordin'  to  my  wife.  I  like  her 
myself.  She  reminds  me  of  home." 

The  Honorable  shook  his  hand.  "Home  is  a 
good  thing  to  remember,"  he  said  earnestly,  "and  a 
bedder  thing  not  to  be  ashamed  of.  You  are  not 
ashamed  of  your  home  and  you  do  not  forget  it. 
That  is  why  I  like  you.  Goodnight!" 

Somehow  this  remark  pleased  the  captain  greatly, 
but  when  he  repeated  it  to  Serena,  she  did  not  seem 
pleased. 

"I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  with  that  Azuba," 
she  said.  "She  mortifies  me  to  death,  and  yet  you 
won't  let  me  get  rid  of  her." 

Her  husband  did  not  answer.  In  the  matter  of 
Azuba  he  was  as  determined  as  ever.  Amid  the  new 
life  into  which  he  had  been  thrown,  head  over  heels, 
the  housekeeper  was  the  one  familiar  substantial 
upon  which  he  could  rely.  He  was  used  to  her,  her 
conversation,  and  her  ways.  As  he  had  said,  she 
reminded  him  of  home,  his  real  home,  the  home 
from  which  he  was  drifting  further  and  further 
every  day. 

149 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Next  morning  Serena  was  suffering  from  head 
ache  and  had  breakfast  in  her  room.  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford,  also,  did  not  descend  to  the  morning  meaL 
Daniel  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Gertrude,  describing 
the  reception,  after  his  own  fashion,  but  taking  care 
to  seem  as  cheerful  as  ever.  He  did  not  feel  cheer 
ful,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  troubling 
his  daughter,  as  he  reasoned. 

Mr.  Hungerford  remained  through  that  day  and 
the  next  day  and  the  next.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  sent  for  his  trunks  and  settled  down  to  make  the 
Dott  house  his  home,  for  "a  short  season,"  he  said. 
This,  of  course,  was  done  only  after  much  protest 
on  his  part  and  strenuous  urging  on  the  part  of 
Serena.  Cousin  Percy  had  taken  her  fancy  at  the 
very  beginning  of  their  acquaintance,  and  his  con 
duct  since  then  had  strengthened  that  liking  tre 
mendously. 

"Of  course  he  can  stay,"  she  said  in  conversation 
with  her  husband.  "Why,  Daniel,  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  him.  His  coming  was  a 
special  Providence,  just  as  I  told  you.  Just  see  how 
he  helped  at  that  reception.  It  would  never  have 
been  the  success  it  was  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him. 
And  see  how  he's  helped  me  since.  He  knows  just 
what  is  right  and  proper  for  people  in  our  station 
to  do;  he's  been  in  society  all  his  life.  He's  edu 
cated  and  he  has  helped  me  with  my  paper  for  the 
next  meeting  of  the  Chapter  so  much  already. 
There's  no  reason  why  he  can't  be  here;  we've  got 
plenty  of  room.  And  it  will  only  be  while  he's  on 
his  vacation,  anyway." 

Daniel  rubbed  his  chin.  "I  know,"  he  admitted; 
150 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"so  he  says.  But  how  long  a  vacation  is  it  goin'  to 
be?" 

"How  do  you  suppose  I  know  that?  I  haven't 
asked  him,  it  isn't  likely." 

"No,  I  didn't  suppose  you  had;  but  it  seems  kind 
of  funny  he  hasn't  told  you  himself.  What's  it  a 
vacation  from?  What's  he  do  for  a  livin'?  Any 
thing  but  run  receptions?" 

"That's  it — sneer !  He  does  a  great  many  things. 
He  is  interested  in  literary  work,  so  he  says.  He 
writes  for  a  living,  I  suppose  that  means." 

"Humph!    Has  he  got  any  answer?" 

"Answer?    Answer  to  what?" 

"Why,  to  his  writing.  Has  the  livin'  sent  him 
word  'twas  on  the  way,  or  anything  like  that?  I 
don't  want  to  be  mean,  Serena.  You  know  well 
enough  I  ain't  stingy.  But  I  can't  quite  make  that 
young  fellow  out.  Why  did  he  come  here,  anyway? 
that's  what  sticks  in  my  mind.  What  sort  of  a  chap 
is  he?  You  know  what  that  lawyer  man  said  about 
him.  Nigh  as  I  could  make  out  from  that,  he 
thought  he  was  a  kind  of  high-toned  loafer,  sportin' 
round  on  his  aunt's  money.  Why  does  that  kind  of 
a  fellow  come  to  live  along  with  us?  We  ain't 
sports." 

"Will  you  ever  remember  not  to  say  'ain't'?  He 
came  here  because  he  isn't  that  kind  of  a  fellow  at 
all.  He  explained  about  that.  It  seems  that  he  and 
that  young  upstart  of  a  Farwell,  the  lawyer,  had 
had  some  words  and  Farwell  had  a  grudge  against 
him.  He  thinks  it  was  largely  owing  to  those  law 
yers'  influence  that  Aunt  Lavinia  treated  him  as  she 
did  in  her  will.  But  he  doesn't  hold  any  grudge.  I 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

never  heard  anybody  speak  more  forgiving  or  kind 
than  he  did  about  the  whole  affair.  I  declare,  it  was 
positively  affecting!  He  told  me  about  his  life  and 
about  how  he  was  all  alone  in  the  world;  how  he 
had  never  had  to  earn  much — never  having  been 
brought  up  to  it — but  that  now  he  was  trying  to  do 
his  best.  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him,  and  that  was  one 
of  the  reasons  why  I  thought  we,  the  only  relations 
he  has,  ought  to  be  kind  and  show  him  hospitality 
at  least.  I  never  thought  you  were  inhospitable, 
Daniel." 

"I  ain't,  Serena.  That  is,  I  mean  I  are — am  not. 

But — but Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  haven't  told  you 

before,  although  I  meant  to,  but  he  and  I  met  once 
since  we've  been  in  Scarford.  I  told  you  about  the 
meeting,  but  I  didn't  know  then  who  I  met.  Now 
I " 

"I  know.  He  told  me  about  that,  too.  He  was 
the  one  you  met  at  the  hotel  that  afternoon.  He 
said  he  was  ashamed  of  his  behavior  that  day,  that 
he  was  tired,  out  of  sorts,  and  discouraged.  He 
thought  you  had  been  listening  to  what  he  and  his 
friend  had  been  saying,  and  it  made  him  cross.  He 
said  that  he  apologized  when  he  first  came  to  the 
house,  and  I  remember  that  he  did,  and  he  asked 
me  whether  I  thought  any  further  apology  was 
necessary.  I  said  no,  of  course  it  wasn't." 

"Well,  I  don't  suppose  it  is.  Bui — well,  there 
was  somethin'  else.  It  seemed  to  me  that  afternoon 
at  the  Rathskeller  that  he  and  that  chum  of  his  had 
been  drinkin'." 

"Drinking?  Do  you  mean  that  they  were  intox 
icated?" 

152 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"No,  not  exactly  that;  but  they  had  a  couple  of 
cocktails  while  I  was  there." 

"Is  that  all?  Oh,  dear  me!  Daniel,  you  are  so 
old-fashioned.  Your  ideas  don't  change  a  single 
mite.  In  Trumet  a  cocktail  is  a  dreadful  thing;  but 
here  it  isn't.  Why,  everybody  drinks  a  cocktail  be 
fore  dinner.  The  Blacks  always  have  them.  There 
were  cocktails  at  that  dinner  at  their  house." 

"I  know  there  was,  but  I  didn't  see  you  drinkin' 
yours,  Serena." 

His  wife  hesitated.  "No,"  she  admitted  rather 
reluctantly,  UI  didn't.  I've  been  temperance  all  my 
life  and  somehow  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  do  it. 
I  hope  Annette  didn't  think  it  was  bad  manners,  but 
I  just  couldn't  somehow.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
tried " 

"Tried!  My  soul  and  body,  Serena!  Don't  talk 
that  way.  If  I  see  you  startin'  in  to  drink  cocktails 
I  shall  begin  to  think  the  world's  comin'  to  an  end. 
Somethin'  will  come  to  an  end  right  then  and  there, 
I'll  tell  you  that!  The  first  cocktail  you  drink  will 
be  the  signal  for  me  to  clear  decks  for  action. 
There's  some  things  I  won't  stand,  and  that's  one  of 
'em!" 

"There,  there!  Don't  get  excited!  I  shan't  be 
gin  at  my  time  of  life.  But  I  shan't  be  narrow, 
either.  I  don't  want  you  to  be.  If  all  you've  got 
against  Cousin  Percy  is  that  he  drinks  a  cocktail 
once  in  a  while  I  think  you'd  better  get  over  it  as 
soon  as  you  can.  He  does  help  me,  Daniel,  in  my 
Chapter  work  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  I'd  like  to 
have  him  stay  here  at  present.  Now  won't  you  be 
nice  and  obliging,  same  as  you  usually  are,  and  let 

153 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

him  stay,  for  my  sake?    You  will,  won't  you,  dear?" 

Captain  Dan  said  that  he  would,  and  yet  he  said 
it  with  considerable  inward  reluctance.  There  was 
no  real  reason  why  he  should  have  distrusted  Percy 
Hungerford.  At  least  he  could  think  of  none  in 
particular.  His  distrust  was  based  upon  general 
ities  and  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  acquired  dur 
ing  his  years  of  knocking  about  among  men.  His 
wife's  words  made  an  impression.  If  what  she  said 
was  true,  his  conscience  told  him  that  he  should  be 
kind  and  generous  in  his  attitude  toward  the  liter 
ary  person.  But — well,  the  "but"  was  still  there. 

It  was  his  intention  to  seek  out  Fenholtz  and  ask 
a  few  questions  concerning  Cousin  Percy,  but  the 
opportunity  did  not  offer  itself,  and  shortly  after 
the  reception  the  Fenholtzes  left  for  the  South, 
where  they  were  to  spend  the  winter.  So  that 
source  of  information  was  cut  off. 

During  the  next  fortnight  the  captain's  sense  of 
desertion  and  of  being  almost  a  stranger  in  his  own 
house  grew  stronger  than  ever.  There  were  more 
callers  and  more  calls  to  return;  there  were  more 
bridge  parties  and  teas.  His  wife  astonished  him 
by  announcing  that  she  was  going  to  take  lessons 
in  bridge  and  that  Mr.  Hungerford  had  found 
a  teacher  to  perfect  her  in  that  branch  of  knowl 
edge. 

uOf  course,"  she  said,  "it  will  cost  quite  a  little, 
but  Cousin  Percy  says  there's  no  use  having  a  teacher 
at  all  unless  you  have  a  good  one,  and  three  dollars 
a  lesson  isn't  too  much,  because  you  learn  so  quickly 
from  an  expert.  I  was  sure  you  would  be  willing 
for  me  to  take  the  lessons,  Daniel." 

154 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Daniel  shook  his  head.  "I'm  willin'  for  you  to 
do  most  anything  that  pleases  you,  Serena,"  he  said, 
"but  three  dollars  a  lesson  for  learnin'  how  to  play 
cards  seems  to  me  a  pretty  good  price.  If  it  was 
me  I  should  feel  as  if  'twas  doubtful  whether  I'd 
get  as  much  out  of  it  as  I  put  in.  That's  what  Ezra 
Small,  back  home,  said  when  he  put  his  sprained 
foot  in  a  plaster  cast.  Ezra  said  he  never  expected 
to  get  more  than  half  his  foot  back,  because  the  way 
that  plaster  stuck  he  cal'lated  it  would  hang  on  to 
the  rest.  I  should  feel  the  same  way  about  the  three 
dollars  for  a  bridge  lesson." 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't  after  you  had  taken  a  few. 
You'll  like  it  then." 

"I,  like  it!    Good  Heavens,  you  don't  mean " 

"I  meant  that  you're  going  to  take  lessons,  too, 
of  course.  You  must  learn  to  play  bridge — every 
body  plays  it.  And  you  used  to  like  cards." 

"I  used  to  like  high-low-jack,  and  I  could  manage 
to  take  a  hand  at  euchre  without  raisin'  too  big  a 
disturbance;  but  I  never  could  learn  that  bridge 
and  play  it  with  those  women  friends  of  yours — 
never  in  this  world.  More'n  that,  I  don't  intend  to 
try." 

And  he  positively  refused  to  try  in  spite  of  his 
wife's  pleading.  However,  he  consented  to  the  em 
ployment  of  the  bridge  teacher  for  her  and,  there 
after,  two  hours  of  each  alternate  afternoon,  Sun 
days  excepted,  were  spent  by  Mrs.  Dott  and  two 
other  female  students  in  company  with  a  thin  and 
didactic  spinster  who  quoted  Elwell  and  Foster  and 
discoursed  learnedly  concerning  the  values  of  no- 
trump  hands.  The  lessons  were  given  at  the  Dott 

155 


CAPN    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

home  and  Mr.  Hungerford  was  an  interested  spec 
tator.  Daniel,  who  was  not  interested,  and  felt 
himself  in  the  way,  moped  in  his  own  room  or  went 
upon  more  of  the  lonely  walks  about  town. 

Chapter  meetings  and  Chapter  activities  occupied 
more  of  Serena's  time.  There  were  "open"  meet 
ings  occasionally  and  these  Captain  Dan  seldom 
attended.  Mr.  Hungerford  acted  as  his  wife's  es 
cort  and  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  in  his  languid  fashion. 
Chapter  politics  began  now  to  have  their  innings. 
There  was  to  be  a  national  convention  of  the  Ladies 
of  Honor,  a  convention  to  be  held  in  the  neighboring 
city  of  Atterbury,  and  Scarford  Chapter  was  to  send 
delegates.  Mrs.  B.  Phelps  Black,  who  aspired  to 
national  honors,  was  desirous  of  being  one  of  these 
delegates,  but  so  were  many  others,  and  Mrs. 
Black's  candidacy  was  by  no  means  unopposed.  She 
called  upon  Serena  for  help,  and  into  the  fight  in  aid 
of  her  friend  Serena  flung  herself,  heart  and  soul. 

There  were  meetings,  and  more  meetings,  and  let 
ter  writing,  and  canvassing  of  voters.  Here  again, 
Daniel  was  of  no  use.  Cousin  Percy's  experience — 
he  seemed  to  have  had  all  sorts  of  experience — 
helped  amazingly.  Mr.  Hungerford's  willingness 
to  help  in  all  things  where  no  particular  labor  was 
concerned  was  most  astonishing.  By  this  time  he 
was  as  much  a  member  of  the  Dott  household  as 
Serena  herself — more  than  the  captain,  who  began 
to  feel  that  he  was  not  a  member  at  all.  Even 
bridge  was  side-tracked  for  the  more  absorbing 
political  game,  and  evening  after  evening  Captain 
Dan  spent  alone.  Occasionally  Mr.  Hungerford 
kept  him  company,  but  his  was  company  not  too  con- 

156 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

genial.  It  is  true  that  the  young  man  was  agreeable 
enough,  but  he  and  the  captain  found  nothing  in 
common  to  talk  about,  and  Cousin  Percy  usually 
gave  up  the  attempt  at  conversation  rather  early  and 
fell  asleep  upon  the  sofa  or  went  out  on  little  ex 
cursions  of  his  own  to  which  Daniel  was  not  invited. 

Mr.  Plungerford  smoked  a  good  deal,  and  it  was 
Daniel's  cigars  that  he  smoked.  His  vacation 
seemed  no  nearer  the  end  than  it  had  when  he  first 
came.  The  shrewd  Azuba  informed  the  captain 
that  she  guessed  it  was  "one  of  them  vacations  that 
didn't  have  any  end,  but  was  all  beginnin'."  Her 
employer  reproved  her  for  speaking  in  this  way  of  a 
friend  of  the  family — he  felt  it  was  his  duty  to  do 
that — but  the  rebuke  was  a  mild  one. 

One  night,  or  rather  one  morning,  for  it  was 
nearly  two  o'clock,  he  was  awakened  by  a  series  of 
violent  shakes,  and  opened  his  eyes  to  find  his  wife 
bending  over  him.  She  had  been  out,  attending  a 
special  meeting  of  the  Chapter,  and  had  hastened 
upstairs  without  stopping  to  take  off  her  wraps. 

"Daniel,  Daniel,  wake  up!"  she  cried. 

The  captain  groaned.  "Hey!  what  is  it?"  he 
asked  sleepily.  Then,  with  a  little  more  interest, 
"Is  the  house  afire?" 

"No,  no,  but  do  wake  up  and  listen.  I've  had  the 
greatest  honor  done  me.  You  will  hardly  believe  it. 
The  delegates  to  the  Atterbury  Convention  were 
elected  to-night.  Annette  Black  is  one — I  just  knew 
she'd  win — and  Mrs.  Lake  is  another,  and  who  do 
you  suppose  is  the  third?" 

Captain  Dan  sat  up  in  bed.  "Not  you?"  he 
shouted. 

157 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Yes,  I.  And,  more  than  that,  I  was  the  one  se 
lected  to  read  a  paper  there.  Annette  expected  to 
do  that,  but,  when  it  came  to  the  vote,  my  last  paper, 
the  one  I  read  Thursday  night,  the  one  Cousin  Percy 
helped  me  so  in  preparing,  was  selected  over  all  the 
rest.  The  vote  was  nearly  two  to  one.  I  am  to 
read  it  on  the  second  day  of  the  Convention.  Isn't 
it  wonderful!  Annette  was  so  jealous  she  hardly 
said  good-night  to  me.  But  I  don't  care.  There, 
Daniel  Dott!  aren't  you  proud  of  your  wife?" 

There  was  a  little  hesitation  in  her  husband's 
manner,  and  yet  he  tried  his  best  to  be  enthusiastic. 
"Oh,,  yes,"  he  said,  "but  then  I  was  proud  of  you 
before,  Serena.  But — but  what  does  this  mean? 
Have  you  and  I  got  to  traipse  way  over  to  Atter- 
bury?" 

"Not  you.  You're  not  going.  None  of  the  men 
are.  This  is  a  women's  convention.  Men  are  not 
invited." 

"I  know.  But  I've  got  to  go  there  with  you. 
You  ain't  goin'  off  travelin'  by  yourself." 

"I'm  going  with  the  other  Chapter  delegates;  we 
will  travel  together." 

"I  want  to  know!  How  long  are  you  goin'  to  be 
gone?" 

"I'm  not  sure.    Three  or  four  days  probably." 

"And  I've  got  to  stay  here  alone?" 

"Why,  you  won't  be  alone.  Cousin  Percy  will 
be  here,  and  there's  Azuba." 

"Yes,  and  that  everlastin'  Hapgood,  I  suppose. 
Say,  Serena,  have  you  got  to  go?" 

"Got  to?  Why,  I  want  to!  It's  an  honor. 
Don't  you  want  me  to  go?" 

158 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Why — why,  I  suppose  I  do;  but — but " 

"But,  what?  Oh,  you  don't  want  me  to  go!  I 
can  see — and  I  thought  you'd  be  so  glad!" 

She  was  almost  in  tears.  Daniel's  sensitive  con 
science  smote  him  once  more.  "Land  sakes !"  he 
protested.  "Of  course  I  want  you  to  go,  Serena! 
I  wouldn't  have  you  do  anything  else  for  the  world. 
I — I  was  just  kind  of  lonesome,  that's  all.  I  get  that 
way  sometimes,  lately.  Seems  as  if  you  and  I  don't 
see  as  much  of  each  other  as  we  used  to.  Do  you 
think  it's  all  worth  while?" 

"Worth  while!    Why,  Daniel  Dott!" 

"There,  there!  don't  take  on.  I  guess  it  is.  I 
suppose  you  know  best  about  such  things.  But  I  get 
kind  of  blue  settin'  around  here  thinkin',  without 
you  to  talk  to;  and  Gertie  isn't  here.  You  see,  I 
miss  you  both." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  do.  Well,  after  this  conven 
tion  is  over  I  shall  have  a  little  more  time,  I  hope. 
And  Gertie  will  be  home  pretty  soon.  It's  almost 
time  for  her  Christmas  vacation." 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is."  I  was  thinkin'  that  to-day. 
My!  we'll  be  glad  to  see  her,  won't  we?" 

"Of  course  we  will.  But,  do  you  know,  Daniel, 
I've  been  so  busy  that  I  almost  forgot  about  Christ 
mas  and  Gertie's  vacation  and  everything.  It  was 
Cousin  Percy  that  reminded  me  of  it." 

"Reminded  you  of  what? — of  Christmas?" 

"No,  of  course  not — of  Gertie's  vacation.  He 
said  that  she  was  coming  and  that  he  should  be  glad 
to  make  her  acquaintance." 

"He  said  so?  How  did  he  know?  /  never  told 
him." 

159 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  don't  remember  that  I  did,  either.  But  I  sup 
pose  I  must  have.  Anyhow,  he  knew.  He  is  very 
much  interested  in  Gertie  and  how  she  was  getting 
on  at  college  and  all  that.  I  saw  him  looking  at  her 
photograph  that  very  day  of  the  reception.  He 
knew  that  it  was  she,  without  being  told." 

"Humph !  He  seems  to  know  a  lot.  But,  there  I 
I  recollect  now — Gertie  said  she  met  him  at  college. 
Well,  Serena,  I  won't  complaii  any  more.  You  can 
go  to  Atterbury  if  you  want  to.  I'll  get  along  all 
right." 

And  to  Atterbury  Mrs.  Dott  went.  It  was  the 
first  time  since  the  old  sea-going  days  that  Captain 
Dan  and  his  wife  had  been  separated  longer  than 
twenty-four  hours.  He  saw  her  off  on  the  train  and 
then  moped  drearily  back  to  Aunt  Lavinia's  man 
sion,  which  he  was  now  beginning  to  hate,  and,  seat 
ing  himself  in  the  library,  tried  to  find  interest  in  a 
novel.  He  did  not  find  it,  however,  and  went  to  bed 
early.  Cousin  Percy,  who  was  out  that  evening,  did 
not  retire  early.  Next  morning  he  seemed  to  have 
little  appetite  for  breakfast,  and  was  less  agreeable 
than  usual. 

The  three  days  passed  somehow.  The  wanderer 
was  to  return  on  Thursday  morning,  but  she  did  not. 
Instead  came  a  telegram,  reading  as  follows : 

"Meeting  and  paper  great  success.  Send  immediately  one 
of  my  latest  photographs.  Serena." 

The  puzzled  Daniel  sent  the  photograph  preceded 
by  a  telegram  of  his  own  which  read: 

"When  are  you  coming  home?  Why  don't  you  write? 
Have  been  worried  about  you.  Answer." 

1 60 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  answer  was  delayed  still  another  day.  When 
it  came,  it  was  in  the  shape  of  a  very  short  note 
stating  that  Saturday  was  the  date  of  return.  Serena 
wrote  that  she  was  having  a  lovely  time.  She  would 
tell  him  all  about  it  when  she  got  back.  "And,"  she 
added,  "I  am  sending  you  by  this  mail  copies  of  the 
Atterbury  paper.  Please  show  it  to  any  of  the 
Chapter  members  whom  you  may  meet." 

Captain  Dan  unfolded  the  paper  and  gazed  at  the 
page  marked  with  blue  pencil.  Here,  under  black 
headlines,  which  screamed  the  success  of  the  conven 
tion  of  the  Ladies  of  Honor,  was  a  horrible  blotted 
outrage  resembling  a  stout  negress  peering  through 
a  screen  door  and  labeled,  "Mrs.  Serena  Sarah 
Dott,  of  Scarford,  whose  brilliant  paper  scored 
the  success  of  the  meeting."  It  was  only  by  a 
process  of  deduction  that  Daniel  realized  the  thing 
to  be  a  reproduction  of  the  photograph  he  had  sent. 
He  glanced  hurriedly  over  the  account  of  the  meet 
ing,  catching  here  and  there  phrases  like  "Mrs. 
Dott's  forte  is  evidently  platform  speaking" — "clear 
thought,  well  expressed" — "tumultuous  applause." 
He  felt  that  he  ought  to  read  the  account  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  but  also  that  he  could  not.  Azuba, 
however,  when  it  was  shown  to  her,  had  no  such 
feeling.  She  bore  it  to  the  kitchen,  read  it  all,  and 
returned  to  crow  vaingloriously. 

"Well,  there  now,  Captain  Daniel!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Ain't  it  wonderful!  Ain't  it  grand  1 
Ain't  you  a  lucky  man  to  have  a  wife  as  notorious 
as  she's  gettin'  to  be !  I  swan  to  man,  if  it 
ain't " 

The  captain  interrupted  her.  "Azuba,"  he  said, 
161 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

rather  testily  for  him,  "if  you  use  that  word  again 
I  don't  know  as  I  won't  make  you  eat  a  dictionary. 
My  wife  may  be  famous  and  she  may  be  a  platform 
speaker,  but  I'm  blessed  if  I'll  have  her  notorious, 
not  if  I  can  help  it." 

"But  she  is  notorious,  ain't  she?  Look  at  her 
right  there  in  the  newspaper,  with  all  that  piece 
about  her  in  print!  I  wish  Labe  could  read  such  a 
piece  in  the  paper  about  me.  Why,  what  ails  you, 
Daniel  Dott?  Just  look  at  that  photograph!" 

Captain  Dan  rose.  "Yes,"  he  said  drily,  "I've 
been  lookin'  at  it.  That's  part  of  what  ails  me." 

On  Saturday  he  was  at  the  station  to  meet  his 
wife.  Serena  was  inwardly  jubilant,  although,  be 
cause  of  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Lake  and  Annette, 
she  tried  to  appear  dignified  and  calm.  But  when 
she  and  her  husband  were  alone  on  their  way  to  the 
house  her  jubilation  burst  forth. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  wonderful  success!"  she  declared. 
"I  declare,  I  wish  you  might  have  been  there.  The 
way  they  applauded!  And  the  entertainment  they 
gave  me!  And  the  reporters  after  interviews!  And 
the  things  the  women  of  the  other  Chapters  said! 
Oh,  Daniel,  it  was  splendid!" 

Lunch  was  a  mere  formality  on  her  part.  She 
talked  incessantly,  while  Cousin  Percy  and  her  hus 
band  listened.  Mr.  Hungerford's  congratulations 
were  hearty.  His  praise  was  as  close  to  fulsome 
flattery  as  it  could  be  and  not  overstep  the  mark. 

Daniel  offered  congratulations,  too.  He  was  glad 
that  his  wife  had  succeeded,  but  the  pleasure  was 
solely  because  of  her  happiness.  He  was  not 
as  happy  on  his  own  account.  Several  remarks 

162 


which  Serena  had  made  seemed  to  prophesy 
that  the  excursion  to  Atterbury  was  but  the  begin 
ning. 

All  that  afternoon  Mrs.  Dott  spent  in  her  room. 
She  was  going  to  be  very  busy,  she  said,  and  she 
must  not  be  interrupted.  It  was  only  just  before 
dinner  that  the  captain  found  a  moment  for  an  un 
interrupted  interview.  He  entered  the  room  to  find 
her  seated  at  the  writing  table,  her  fingers  ink- 
stained,  and  the  table  covered  with  closely  written 
sheets  of  manuscripts.  She  looked  up  when  he  ap 
peared. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I'm  so  tired!  I've  written  stead 
ily  all  the  afternoon.  My  report  had  to  be  ready, 
and  there  was  so  much  to  say." 

Daniel  regarded  her  gravely.  "You  look  tired, 
Serena.  You're  doin'  altogether  too  much  of  this 
sort  of  thing.  You  ought  to  stop,  or  you'll  be  sick. 
Now,  you  just  rest  a  while.  My,  it  does  seem  good 
to  have  you  back  again!  We  can  have  an  evening 
together  now.  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do :  You  tell 
Hungerford  you're  tired  and  then  come  right  up 
here,  and  I'll  come,  too.  Then  we  can  sit  and  talk. 
I've  got  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

But  Serena  shook  her  head.  "No,  Daniel,"  she 
said.  "I  can't  talk  to-night." 

"Then  don't;  I'll  do  the  talkin'.  Land's  sakes! 
it'll  be  enough  just  to  look  at  you.  I  don't  feel  as 
if  I'd  seen  you  for  a  hundred  years." 

Another  shake  of  the  head.  "I'm  sorry,  Daniel, 
but  I  can't  be  with  you  at  all  to-night.  I  must  pre 
sent  my  report  to  the  Chapter  and  I  shall  probably 
not  be  home  till  very  late." 

163 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Daniel  sprang  from  his  chair.  "Serena  Dott!" 
he  cried.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you're  goin' 
out  to  that  Chapter  thing  again  to-night!  after  bein' 
away  from  me  all  this  time  1  Why,  you've  just  got 
home!" 

"I  can't  help  it,  Daniel.  I  must  present  my  re 
port.  It's  my  duty  to  do  it.  The  Chapter  expects 
me  and  I  must  be  there." 

"Expects  you!  /  expected  you,  didn't  I?  And, 
by  the  everlastin',  I  think  I  had  a  right  to  expect 
you!  I'm  your  husband,  ain't  I?  Seems  to  me  I 
am  entitled  to  a  little  of  your  society." 

"I  can't  help  it,  Daniel.     The  Chapter " 

Captain  Dan's  feelings  got  the  better  of  his  pru 
dence.  "Damn  the  Chapter!"  he  shouted.  "I  wish 
you  and  I  had  never  heard  of  it,  nor  anybody  that 
belongs  to  it." 

The  instant  after  the  words  left  his  lips  he  would 
have  given  a  good  deal  to  recall  them,  but  it  was 
too  late.  His  wife  slowly  rose. 

"Daniel  Dott!"  she  gasped.  "Daniel  Dott!  You 
— you — why — my  husband  talking  to  me  like  that! 
My  own  husband!  the  man  of  all  men  that  I  ex 
pected  would  be  proud  of  me !  The  man  who  should 
be  proud  and  glad  that  I  have  found  my  lifework — 
speaking  to  me  like  that!  Oh!  oh!  what  shall  I 
do!  How  can  I  bear  it!" 

She  fell  back  into  the  chair,  her  head  sank  upon 
her  arms  over  the  manuscript  of  the  precious  report, 
and  she  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs. 

Daniel  was  as  much  overcome  as  she.  He  hur 
ried  to  her  side  and  in  an  agony  of  remorse  bent 
over  her. 

164 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

"There,  there,  Serena,"  he  pleaded.  "Don't  do 
so.  I  didn't  mean  it.  It  kind  of " 

He  would  have  put  his  arms  about  her  but  she 
pushed  them  away. 

"And  swearing  at  me,"  she  sobbed.  "And  using 
language  that " 

"I  didn't  mean  to  swear,  Serena.  I  never  swore 
at  you  before  in  my  life.  I  didn't  mean  to  this  time. 
It  just  seemed  to  come  out  all  of  itself.  Please  for 
give  me,  won't  you?  Please?" 

But  Serena  was  not  ready  to  forgive.  The  sleep 
less  nights  and  days  of  wild  excitement  had  thrown 
her  nerves  into  a  state  where  it  needed  but  the  slight 
est  jar  to  break  them  completely.  She  sobbed,  and 
choked,  and  gasped,  her  fingers  clutching  at  her  hair. 
Daniel,  hanging  over  her,  tried  in  vain  to  put  in  a 
word. 

"Please,  Serena,"  he  kept  saying.    "Please." 

Suddenly  the  sobs  ceased.  Serena's  hands  struck 
the  desk  and  she  rose  so  abruptly  that  her  husband 
had  scarce  time  to  get  out  of  her  way. 

"Serena,"  he  cried. 

But  Serena  cut  him  short.  "Go  away,"  she  com 
manded.  "Go  away  and  leave  me.  I  don't  want  to 
speak  to  you  again." 

"But,  Serena " 

"Go  away.  Don't  come  near  me  again  to-night. 
Go,  go,  go/" 

And  Daniel  went,  slowly,  reluctantly.  He  was 
scarcely  past  the  sill,  his  hands  still  upon  the  knob 
of  the  door,  when  that  door  was  closed  from  within 
with  a  slam.  He  made  one  more  effort  to  speak, 
but  he  heard  the  key  turn  and  his  wife's  voice  com- 

165 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

manding  him  to  go  away.  He  descended  the  stairs 
to  the  library  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  Mr. 
Hungerford,  smoking  one  of  his  host's  cigars  and 
reading  the.  evening  paper,  looked  at  him  curiously 
and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

Daniel  turned  on  him.  "Nothin',"  he  roared. 
"Nothin',  do  you  hear?"  Then  he  rushed  from  the 
library  to  the  hall,  seized  his  hat  and  coat  from  the 
rack  and  hurried  out  of  the  house.  He  walked  and 
walked,  but  if,  upon  his  return,  anyone  had  asked 
him  where  he  had  walked  he  could  not  have  told 
them.  This  was  the  first  serious  quarrel  that  he 
and  his  wife  had  had  during  their  married  life. 

It  was  half-past  seven  when  he  returned  and 
found  Azuba  fidgeting  in  the  dining-room.  It  was 
Mr.  Hapgood's  free  evening  and  he  had  left  early. 

"For  mercy  sakes!"  Azuba  demanded.  "Where 
have  you  been?" 

"Out!"  was  the  gloomy  rejoinder.  "Where's  the 
rest  of  the  folks?" 

"Gone  to  Chapter  meetin'." 

"Both  of 'em?" 

"Yes.  It  was  an  open  meeting  and  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  went  along,  too.  Where  are  you  goin'  now? 
Don't  you  want  anything  to  eat?  It's  been  w^itin' 
for  you  for  an  hour." 

"Let  it  wait;  1  don't  want  it." 

He  walked  from  the  room.  Azuba  gazed  after 
him  open-mouthed. 

"Well  I"  she  soliloquized  in  a  voice  loud  enough 
for  the  captain  to  hear.  "Well,  if  anybody'll  tell 
me  what's  the  use  of  gettin'  all  het  up  cookin'  vittles 
in  this  house,  then  I'd  like  to  have  'em  do  it.  Here 

1 66 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

IVe  worked  and  worked  and  fussed  and  fussed  to 
get  dinner  and  nobody's  ate  a  mouthful  but  one,  and 
he's  the  one  that  gets  it  for  nothin'.  I  never  saw 
such  doin's.  Don't  talk  to  me!" 

Captain  Dan  didn't  talk  to  anybody.  He  sat 
alone  in  the  library,  miserable  and  downhearted., 
After  a  while  Azuba  came  and  announced  that  she 
guessed  she'd  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  if  she 
wasn't  needed.  Receiving  no  answer,  she  apparently 
considered  the  request  granted  and  the  captain 
heard  the  back  door  shut.  Still  the  captain  sat  in 
the  library,  a  huddled,  pathetic  heap  in  the  armchair, 
gazing  at  vacancy.  Occasionally  he  sighed. 

The  doorbell  rang.  Aroused  from  his  doleful 
reverie  by  the  sound,  Daniel  jumped  from  his  chair 
and,  going  to  the  hall,  shouted  for  Azuba.  Then  he 
remembered  that  Azuba  was  not  on  the  premises 
and  answered  the  ring  himself.  He  had  forgotten 
to  push  the  button  of  the  porch  light  and,  peering 
out  into  the  dark,  he  could  see  only  that  the  person 
standing  upon  the  top  step  was  a  woman.  A  car 
riage  had  drawn  up  at  the  curb  and  the  driver  was 
unloading  a  trunk  from  the  rack. 

"Good  evenin'  1"  said  Daniel. 

The  answer  was  a  surprise.  There  was  a  laugh, 
and  then  a  pair  of  arms  were  thrown  about  Captain 
Dan's  neck  and  a  girlish  voice  said:  "Good  even 
ing!  Is  that  all  you've  got  to  say  to  me?  Why, 
Daddy,  you  dear  old  goose,  don't  you  know  me?" 
,  Daniel's  answer  was  a  shout  that  might  have  been 
heard  at  the  next  corner. 

"What!"  he  roared.  "Gertie!  Good  land  of 
love!  Where'd  you  come  from?" 

167 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UT  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Daddy?"  asked 
Gertrude.  They  were  in  the  library.  The 
trunk  had  been  carried  upstairs  and  the 
young  lady  had  assured  her  father  over  and  over 
again  that  she  really  didn't  want  any  dinner,  as  she 
had  eaten  on  the  dining  car  during  the  journey  from 
Boston. 

The  captain,  who  had  scarcely  taken  his  eyes  off 
her  since  her  arrival  at  the  house,  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"Glad  to  see  you!"  he  repeated.  "I  never  was 
more  glad  to  see  anybody  in  my  life.  How'd  you 
happen  to  come  so  soon?  We  weren't  expectin'  you 
for  a  week." 

"I  hadn't  expected  to  come,  but  I  changed  my 
mind.  Now  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  How  are 
you,  and  how's  Mother?  And  how  are  you  getting 
on?  Mother  has  gone  to  the  Chapter  meeting,  you 
say.  Did  she  go  alone?" 

"No,  she  didn't  go  alone.  That — Cousin  Percy 
went  with  her." 

"Cousin  Percy?  Oh,  you  mean  Mr.  Hungerford. 
Do  you  call  him  Cousin  Percy?  How  funny!" 

She  seemed  much  amused.  Her  father  smiled, 
but  it  was  a  rather  sheepish  smile. 

"  'Tis  kind  of  funny,  I  suppose,"  he  admitted.  "I 
1 68 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

don't  know  as  he  really  is  a  cousin.     Fact  is,  I  guess 
he  ain't  any  real  relation." 

"Of  course  he  isn't.  He  was  Aunt  Lavinia's  sec 
ond  cousin,  or  something  like  that,  but  she  was  only 
your  aunt  by  marriage.  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
speak  of  him  as  'Cousin  Percy.'  Did  he  ask  you 
to?" 

"No-o;  I  don't  know  as  he  did.  But,  you  see,  he 
always  calls  your  mother  Cousin  Serena  and  me 
Cousin  Daniel,  and — and — well,  I  guess  we've  kind 
of  got  into  the  habit.  Your  mother  began  it  and, 
now  that  he's  been  here  so  long,  I've  caught  the  dis 
ease,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"Long!  Why,  he  hasn't  been  here  more  than  a 
month,  has  he?" 

"Hey?  No;  no;  now  that  you  mention  it  I  don't 
suppose  he  has.  But  it  seems  a  lot  longer  than  that 
to  me." 

He  sighed.  Gertrude  regarded  him  keenly.  Un 
conscious  of  the  regard  he  sat  there,  lost  in  thought, 
apparently  forgetful  of  her  presence.  She  reminded 
him  by  saying: 

"Why  does  it  seem  longer?" 

He  started  and  looked  up. 

"Hey?  Why?"  he  repeated.  "Oh,  I  don't  know. 
So  many  things  have  happened,  I  guess." 

"What  kind  of  things?" 

"All  kinds.  But  there — tell  me  about  yourself. 
How's  college?  And  how's  John?  Land  sakesl 
I  ain't  said  a  word  about  John,  and  he's  about  as 
important  as  anything  on  earth  just  now,  or  he  ought 
to  be.  Guess  you  think  I'm  a  selfish  old  pig,  not  to 
ask  about  him  before  this.  How  is  he?" 

169 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"You  couldn't  be  selfish  if  you  tried,  Daddy.  You 
never  knew  how  to  be.  John  is  well  and  very  busy. 
He  sent  his  love  to  you  and  Mother,  and  he  hopes  to 
run  down  here  before  very  long  and  spend  a  few 
days  with  us." 

"Does,  hey?  That's  good.  I  suppose  you  don't 
hope  he'll  come.  Ha  1  ha !  no,  of  course  not.  He's 
doin'  all  the  hopin'." 

"Well,  perhaps  not  all.  But  there,  Daddy,  don't 
waste  time  talking  of  John  or  me.  I  want  to  hear 
about  you  and  about  Mother,  and  how  you  like  liv 
ing  in  Scarford." 

"Why,  I  wrote  you  all  about  that." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  did,  but  I  want  to  hear  more, 
lots  more.  And  I  want  to  see  the  house.  Just 
think,  I  haven't  seen  it  at  all.  Now,  Daddy,  you 
must  show  me  all  the  rooms  right  away.  We  can 
talk  as  we  go.  Come  on." 

She  led  the  way  and  Daniel  followed.  The  house 
was  shown  from  top  to  bottom.  Gertrude  asked 
many  questions,  the  majority  of  which  seemed  to 
have  little  to  do  with  the  new  establishment  and 
more  with  the  life  which  her  parents  had  spent  in 
it.  Captain  Dan  answered  these  questions  in  the 
intervals  between  rooms,  and  his  answers  were  less 
guarded  than  they  might  have  been  under  different 
circumstances.  At  length  the  young  lady  ceased  to 
question,  and  the  tour  of  inspection  was  finished  in 
silence  on  her  part. 

When  they  returned  to  the  library,  the  captain, 
who  had  been  waiting  for  some  expression  of  ap 
proval  from  his  daughter,  suddenly  blurted 
out: 

170 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well,  why  don't  you  say  somethin',  Gertie? 
Don't  you  like  it?" 

Gertrude,  seated  in  the  easy  chair,  her  elbow  rest 
ing  on  the  chair  arm  and  her  chin  supported  by  her 
hand,  answered  promptly. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

"What!  Don't  like  it?  Don't  like  this  house? 
Well,  for  mercy  sakes!" 

"Oh,  not  the  house;  I  like  that  well  enough.  I 
liked  our  old  one  quite  as  well — but  never  mind  that 
now.  The  house  is  all  right.  It  is  the  rest  of  it 
that  is  all  wrong.  I  don't  like  that." 

"The  rest  of  it?    What  do  you  mean?" 

Gertrude  did  not  answer.  Instead  she  raised  her 
head  and  looked  at  him.  It  was  a  long  look  and 
a  steady  one,  and  the  captain  found  it  hard  to  bear. 
He  fidgeted  for  a  moment  and  then  blurted  out: 

"WTell,  what  is  it?  Why  are  you  starin'  at  me 
like  that?" 

The  stare  continued. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Daniel.  "What  does 
ail  you,  Gertie?  Or  is  it  me?" 

His  daughter  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is 
you.  Why  don't  you  tell  me  all  about  it,  Daddy? 
I  have  a  right  to  know.  Why  don't  you  tell  me?" 

"Tell  you?     Tell  you  what?" 

"You  know.  Why  don't  you  tell  me?  You  have 
told  me  so  much  already  that  you  may  as  well  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it.  Why,  you  silly  old  Dad,  what 
do  you  suppose  brought  me  here  a  week  ahead  of 
my  vacation?  Why  do  you  think  I  came?" 

"Why  do  I  think ?  Why — why,  you  came 

because  you  wanted  to  see  your  mother  and  me,  I 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

suppose.  That's  reason  enough — or  I  flattered  my 
self  that  'twas.  I  thought  you  was  as  anxious  to 
see  us  as  we  was  to  see  you." 

"So  I  was;  but  that  wasn't  reason  sufficient  to 
make  me  leave  my  work  at  college  before  the  term 
was  over,  leave  it  for  good,  very  likely.  I  came 
because  I  was  sure  you  needed  me.  And  your  let 
ters  made  me  sure." 

Daniel  gasped.  His  letters  had  been  triumphs  of 
diplomatic  evasion,  so  he  considered.  He  had  been 
so  careful  to  write  nothing  of  his  troubles,  to  leave 
out  everything  which  should  hint  at  his  disturbed 
state  of  mind.  He  had  taken  pains  to  express,  in 
each  epistle,  his  contentment  and  happiness,  had  em 
phasized  them.  And  now 

"My  letters!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  letters  made 
you  think — made  you  sure " 

"Yes;  your  letters  and  mother's.  Hers  were  full 
of  all  sorts  of  things,  the  very  things  that  you  never 
mentioned.  She  didn't  say  she  was  having  a  good 
time  here,  but  it  was  plain  enough  that  she  was. 
You  said  it  in  every  letter — that  you  were  having  the 
good  time,  I  mean — but  it  was  perfectly  plain  that 
you  weren't.  And  her  last  letter  was  so  short — she 
was  so  busy  with  the  Atterbury  preparations  that  she 
could  not  write  more,  she  said — and  yours  was  so 
very,  very  long,  and  so  full  of  lonesomeness " 

Her  father  interrupted.  Lonesomeness  was  the 
very  thing  he  had  tried  to  keep  out  of  that 
letter. 

"Gertrude  Atwell  Dott !"  he  shouted.  "How  you 
talk!  I  never  wrote  a  word " 

"Yes,  you  did.  It  was  all  there,  between  the 
172 


CAP'N    DAN'S   LAUGHTER 

lines.  I  could  read  it,  for  you  and  I  have  been 
acquainted  a  good  many  years.  As  soon  as  I  re 
ceived  that  letter  I  made  up  my  mind  to  come  at 
once.  Since  I  have  been  here  I  have  asked  a  good 
many  questions,  and  you  have  answered  them.  But 
I  didn't  need  the  answers.  Just  to  look  at  you  was 
enough.  You  are  miserable,  Daddy  dear,  and,  be 
cause  you  are  you,  you  won't  admit  it.  But  you've 
got  to;  you've  got  to  tell  me  the  whole  story.  I 
want  to  know  all  about  everything." 

The  wind  was  taken  completely  out  of  Daniel's 
sails.  He  could  only  sit  there,  guilt  written  plainly 
upon  his  face,  and  stammer  frantic  protestations. 

"No,  no,"  he  declared.  "It  ain't  so.  You're  all 
wrong,  Gertie.  You're  way  off  the  course.  The 
idea  of  you  sayin'  your  mother  was  neglectin'  me." 

"I  didn't  say  it.  You  have  said  it  a  dozen  times, 
but  I  haven't." 

"I  said  it?  I  never.  Your  mother  is  a  fine 
woman,  Gertie;  as  good  a  woman  as  ever  was." 

"I  know  that.  And  she  would  not  neglect  you 
wilfully  for  the  world.  But  she  has  not  had  experi 
ence.  She  takes  people  and  things  at  their  face 

value.  She  doesn't  understand Why  are  you 

smiling?  Is  it  so  funny?" 

Captain  Dan  rubbed  the  smile  from  his  lips.  In 
spite  of  his  perturbation  he  had  been  amused  for  the 
moment. 

"Why,"  he  observed,  "I  don't  know  as  'tis,  but — 
but — well,  I  couldn't  help  wonderin'  how  old  you'd 
got  to  be  in  the  last  couple  of  months,  Gertie.  You 
talk  as  if  you  was  the  grandmother  and  your  ma  and 
I  were  young  ones  just  out  of  school.  About  how 

173 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

much  experience  have  you  had,  young  lady?  now 
that  we're  speakin'  of  it." 

Gertrude's  earnestness  was  too  real  to  be  shaken 
by  this  pertinent  inquiry. 

"I  have  had  a  good  deal,"  she  declared.  "One 
can  get  a  lot  of  experience  in  college.  There  are  as 
many  kinds  of  character  there,  on  a  small  scale,  as 
anywhere  I  know.  I  have  seen  girls — but  there  I 
this  is  all  irrelevant,  away  from  the  subject.  You 
are  neglected,  Daddy;  you  are  lonely  and  miserable. 
Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

But  her  father  had,  in  a  measure,  recovered  his 
composure,  and  he  declined  to  tell.  He  had  been 
longing  for  a  confidant,  and  here  was  the  one  he  had 
longed  for  most;  but  his  sense  of  loyalty  to  Serena 
kept  him  silent. 

"There's  nothin'  to  tell,"  he  vowed  stoutly.  "I'm 
all  right.  You're  dreamin',  Gertie." 

"Nonsense  I  I  shall  lose  patience  with  you  pretty 
soon,  and  I  don't  want  to.  Judging  by  what  I  have 
seen  and  learned  so  far,  I  am  likely  to  need  a 
great  deal  of  patience  in  this  house,  and  I  can't 
waste  any.  Mother  has  gone  head  over  heels  into 
this  precious  Ladies  of  Honor  work  of  hers,  hasn't 
she?" 

"We-11,  she's  terrible  interested  in  it,  of  course; 
but  she's  so  smart  anyhow,  and  here  in  Scarford 
she's  got  the  chance  she's  been  lookin'  for." 

"And  she  is  very  much  in  society  here,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes.  That's  natural,  too,  with  her  smartness 
and  all." 

"What  kind  of  society  is  it?" 

"Hey?    What  kind?    Why,  it's  the  genuine  gilt- 
174 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

edged  kind,  I  should  say.  /  never  saw  such  clothes, 
nor  such  dinners,  nor  dances.  It " 

"Hush  !  Yes,  I  can  believe  all  that.  You  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  see  them — in  Trumet.  And  I  can  believe 
in  the  gilt;  the  genuine  part  is  what  I  am  most  doubt 
ful  of.  Mrs.  Black  is  as  influential  with  Mother  as 
ever,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes.  She  and  Serena  bein'  such  close  friends, 
it " 

"I  know.  Tell  me,  Daddy,  are  the  rest  of  Moth 
er's  friends  like  the  Blacks?" 

"Pretty  much.  They're  all  the  same  tribe — that 
is,  I  mean  they're  all  brilliant,  fashionable  folks." 

"I  see.     What  sort  of  friends  have  you  made?" 

This  was  straight  from  the  shoulder  and  the  cap- 
2fiin  was  somewhat  staggered. 

"Well,"  he  admitted,  after  a  slight  pause,  "I — I 
ain't  made  so  dreadful  many  friends,  Gertie.  Most 
of  the  men  here  are — are  kind  of  different  from  me, 
seems  so.  They  belong  to  clubs  and  such,  and 
they're  out  a  lot  nights.  I  don't  care  for  goin' 
out  much;  I've  always  been  a  great  home  body — 
you  know  that,  Gertie.  I  don't  doubt,  if  I  joined 
the  club  and  went  to  'stag'  dinners  and  so  on,  I'd 
have  more  friends.  It  ain't  their  fault,  you  know, 
it's  me." 

"Yes,  it  always  is  you,  isn't  it,  Daddy?  No  one 
else  is  to  blame,  of  course.  Well,  I'm  very  glad  I 
came  when  I  did.  How  many  evenings  have  you 
spent  alone,  as  you  were  spending  this  one?" 

"Not  a  great  many.     I  just " 

"Why  didn't  you  go  to  the  Chapter  to-night?  It 
must  have  been  an  open  meeting,  otherwise  Mr. 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Hungerford  couldn't  have  gone.  Why  didn't  you  go 
with  Mother?" 

Here  was  the  one  question  Daniel  had  dreaded 
most.  To  answer  it  truthfully  meant  telling  of  the 
quarrel  between  Serena  and  himself.  He  could  not 
tell  that,  not  even  to  his  daughter. 

"I — I  didn't  feel  like  goin',  somehow,"  he  fal 
tered. 

"That's  strange.  I  knew  that  you  were  not  par 
ticularly  interested  in  the  Chapter — at  least  you 
never  were  in  Trumet — but  I  never  knew  you  to  stay 
at  home  when  Mother  asked  you  to  go  with  her. 
Did  she  ask  you?" 

"Now — now,  Gertie,  'tain't  likely  I — I " 

"Never  mind;  you  needn't  answer.  Tell  me  more 
about  this  new  relative  of  ours,  'Cousin  Percy.'  Do 
you  like  him,  now  that  you  really  know  him?" 

"Why — why,  yes,  I  like  him  all  right  enough,  I 
guess.  Course  he  and  I  are  different,  in  some  ways; 
but,  then,  he's  younger  by  a  good  many  years." 

Gertrude  nodded  slowly.  "I  see,"  she  said. 
"You've  made  up  your  mind  not  to  tell  me  anything, 
haven't  you,  Daddy?  You  wouldn't  hurt  anyone's 
feelings  for  the  world,  and  you  are  afraid  I  may 
blame  Mother.  Well,  I  am  not  going  to  blame  any 
one  yet.  And  I  am  not  going  to  quiz  you  any  longer. 
But  I  came  home  to  find  out  things,  and  I  am  going 
to  find  out.  If  you  won't  help  me,  I  must  help  my 
self." 

Her  father  leaned  forward  and  patted  her  hand. 

"Now — now,  Gertie,"  he  pleaded  nervously, 
"don't  be  foolish.  Everything's  all  right,  I  tell  you. 
Don't  go  stirrin'  up  any  trouble.  I  am  so  tickled  to 

176 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  you  here  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Let's  be 
contented  with  that.  Let's  just  be  happy  together. 

Don't Hello !  here  comes  the  Chapter  folks 

now,  I  guess.  Maybe  your  mother  won't  be  glad 
to  see  you!  Oh,  Serena,  who  do  you  think  is  here? 
I'll  bet  you'll  be  some  surprised!" 

There  was  no  doubt  of  the  surprise ;  neither  was 
there  any  doubt  as  to  Serena's  joy  at  seeing  her 
daughter.  An  outburst  of  greetings  and  questions 
and  explanations  followed.  Gertrude  explained  that 
she  had  had  an  opportunity  to  leave  college  a  week 
earlier  than  the  end  of  the  term  and  had  availed 
herself  of  it. 

"I  just  had  to  see  you  and  father,"  she  declared. 
"I  couldn't  wait  any  longer.  I've  been  telling  father 
so;  haven't  I,  Daddy?" 

She  accompanied  this  question  with  a  glance  which 
Captain  Dan  recognized  as  a  warning.  He  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

Serena  suddenly  remembered  that  the  family  was 
not  alone. 

"Oh !"  she  exclaimed.  "What  have  I  been  think 
ing  of?  Your  coming  home  like  this,  Gertie,  has 

made  me  forget  everything  else.    Cousin  Percy 

Why,  where  is  Cousin  Percy?" 

Mr.  Hungerford,  who,  from  motives  of  delicacy 
or  other  reasons,  had  stepped  back  into  the  hall, 
where  he  could  see  and  hear  without  being  too  con 
spicuous,  now  made  his  appearance. 

"Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Dott,  "this  is  our  cousin, 
Mr.  Percy  Hungerford.  You've  heard  him  spoken 
of.  Oh,  yes — why,  you  and  he  have  met.  I  remem 
ber  now,  so  you  have." 

177 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Hungerford  bowed. 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Dott  one 
evening  a  year  or  two  ago,"  he  observed  politely. 
"No  doubt  she  has  forgotten  me,  however,  by  this 
time." 

Gertrude  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "I  remember  you  very  well, 
indeed.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hungerford?" 

The  young  gentleman  announced  that  he  was  quite 
well.  He  made  a  move  as  if  to  shake  hands,  but 
as  there  was  no  corresponding  move  on  Miss  Dott's 
part,  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  instead. 

"That  evening — the  evening  of  the  college  dance 
— is  one  of  my  pleasantest  recollections,"  he  ob 
served.  "I  made  some  delightful  acquaintances 
there.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  have  forgotten 
the  names  of  the  young  ladies,  but  forgetfulness  is 
one  of  my  failings." 

"He  meets  so  many  people,"  cut  in  Serena,  by 
way  of  apology. 

Gertrude  smiled.  There  was  a  mischievous  twin 
kle  in  her  eye. 

"I'm  sure  he  hasn't  forgotten  as  all,"  she  de 
clared.  "He  could  not  be  so  ungallant  as  that." 

"He  didn't  forget  you,  anyway,"  declared  Daniel. 
"He  knew  your  photograph  just  as  soon  as  he  laid 
eyes  on  it." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Daddy.  You've  saved  my  self- 
respect.  But  I  was  not  referring  to  myself. 
There  are  others  whom  I  am  sure  Mr.  Hungerford 
has  not  forgotten.  Isn't  that  true,  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford?" 

Cousin  Percy  appeared  somewhat  disconcerted. 
178 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Why,"  he  stammered,  "I  don't  understand.  I 
can't  recollect " 

"Can't  you!  Oh,  that  is  dreadful!  Do  you 
correspond  with  so  many  young  ladies  that  you  can't 
remember  their  identity?  Oh!  oh!  and  Margaret 
was  50  proud  of  those  letters !  Really,  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford!" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  brimming 
over  with  fun.  Cousin  Percy's  cheeks  had  lost  some 
thing  of  their  aristocratic  pallor.  Margaret  Bab- 
cock,  the  daughter  of  a  well  known  glass  manufac 
turer,  had  been  one  of  the  list  of  feminine  acquaint 
ances  whom  he  had  honored  with  long  distance  fa 
miliarity.  She  was  an  impressionable  young  person 
and  her  papa  was  very  wealthy.  The  correspond 
ence  had  broken  off  when  her  mother  discovered 
one  of  the  letters.  Mrs.  Babcock  had  definite  views 
concerning  her  daughter's  future,  and  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  was  not  included  in  the  perspective.  The  lat 
ter  had  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  that  he  met  Miss 
Babcock  at  the  college  dance ;  therefore  he  was  con 
fused. 

But  the  confusion  was  short-lived.  He  recovered 
quickly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Dott,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh.  "I  had  forgotten  Miss  Babcock.  Poor 
Margaret!  She  was  of  an  age  when  letters,  espe 
cially  masculine  letters,  are  delightfully  wicked. 
Forbidden  fruit,  you  know.  She  asked  me  to  write, 
and  I  was  foolish  enough  to  do  so.  I  presume  my 
humble  epistles  furnished  harmless  amusement  for 
the  class.  Very  glad  to  have  contributed,  I'm  sure." 

"You  did  contribute.  We  all  enjoyed  them  so 
179 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

much — especially  Margaret.     She  is  a  year  older 
than  I,  Mr.  Hungerford." 

Serena,  who,  like  the  captain,  did  not  understand 
a  great  deal  of  all  this,  decided  to  change  the  sub 
ject.  She  did  not  address  her  husband — she  had 
not  spoken  to  him  since  the  scene  in  the  room  up 
stairs — but  the  exaltation  and  triumph  which  the 
evening  just  passed  had  brought  to  her  soul  now 
burst  forth.  She  began  to  describe  the  Chapter's 
meeting  and  to  tell  of  her  great  success  at  Atterbury, 
and  the  enthusiastic  reception  by  the  Scarford  mem 
bers  of  her  report.  Mr.  Hungerford  seized  the  op 
portunity  to  deprive  the  family  of  his  society.  He 
was  rather  tired,  he  explained,  had  a  bit  of  writing 
to  do  before  retiring,  and,  if  they  would  excuse  him, 
would  go  to  his  room.  Being  excused,  with  reluc 
tance  on  Mrs.  Dott's  part  and  silence  on  the  part  of 
Gertrude  and  her  father,  he  said  good-night  and 
withdrew. 

"And  now,  Mother,"  said  Gertrude,  "tell  me 
more  about  yourself,  and  about  the  Chapter,  and 
the  friends  you  have  made,  and  everything.  Father 
has  told  me  a  little,  and  your  letters  and  his  have 
told  me  more,  but  I  want  to  know  it  all.  1  am  very 
much  interested." 

Serena  did  not  need  to  be  asked  twice.  She  told 
a  great  deal,  warming  to  her  subject  as  she  pro 
ceeded.  She  told  of  their  arrival  in  Scarford,  of 
the  kindness  shown  by  the  Blacks  and  Mrs.  Lake 
and  the  rest.  "Wonderful  women,  Gertie !  brilliant, 
intellectual,  advanced  thinkers,  every  one  of  them. 
Not  much  like  Abigail  Mayo  and  the  rest  at  Tru- 
met." 

180 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

She  told  of  their  adventures  in  society,  of  the 
Blacks'  dinner,  of  the  reception,  of  her  bridge  les 
sons.  Gertrude  listened,  saying  nothing,  but  watch 
ing  both  her  parents  intently  as  the  narrative  pro 
ceeded. 

Daniel,  fidgeting  in  his  chair,  waited,  ner 
vously  expectant,  for  the  protest  which  he  felt  sure 
his  daughter  might  make  at  any  moment.  But  no 
protest  came.  Only  once  did  the  young  lady  inter 
rupt,  and  then  it  was  to  ask  a  question. 

"I  suppose  Daddy  enjoys  all  this  as  much  as  you 
do,  Mother?"  she  said.  "Doesn't  he?" 

Mrs.   Dott's  expression  changed.     The   radiant 
'    j°y>  which  had  illumined  her  face  as  she  described 
her  progress  at  bridge,  faded,  and  she  seemed  on 
the  verge  of  tears. 

"Don't,  Gertie,"  she  begged.  "Don't  ask  me 
about  your  father,  please.  Enjoy  it?  No,  he 
doesn't  enjoy  it  at  all.  He  has  no  sympathy  for 
my  aims  and  ambitions.  He  takes  no  pride  in  my 
advancement.  To-night — only  this  very  night,  he 
said  to  me — Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  said! 
Don't  ask  me,  please." 

Captain  Dan  almost  slipped  from  his  chair  in  the 
agony  of  justification. 

"I  never  meant  it,  Gertie,"  he  declared.  "It  just 
happened,  I  don't  know  how.  I'll  leave  it  to  you; 
I'll  leave  it  to  anybody,  if " 

For  the  first  time  his  wife  noticed  his  presence. 

"Leave  it  to  anybody!"  she  repeated  wildly. 
"You'll  leave  it  to  anybody!  I  wish  you  would! 
I  wish  you  could  hear  what  people  think  of  it.  Why, 

Cousin  Percy  said " 

181 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

For  the  second  time  since  lunch  the  captain  for 
got  to  be  prudent. 

"Cousin  Percy  said!"  he  shouted.  "He  said  I 
Do  you  mean  to  say  you  told  him — that?  What 
business  was  it  of  his,  I'd  like  to  know?  What  did 
he  say?  If  he  says  it  to  me,  I'll — I'll " 

Gertrude  motioned  him  to  stop. 

"There!  there!"  she  commanded.  "Daddy,  be 
quiet.  Mother,  you're  tired  out.  You  must  go  to 
bed.  I'll  go  up  with  you,  and  we  can  talk  while  you 
are  getting  ready.  Daddy  will  wait  here.  Come, 
Mother,  come." 

She  led  the  sobbing  Serena  from  the  room.  Cap 
tain  Dan,  his  feelings  divided  between  deep  contri 
tion  at  his  own  behavior  and  anger  at  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford's  interference  in  the  affairs  of  himself  and  wife, 
obeyed  orders  and  remained  where  he  was. 

It  was  a  long  wait.  He  smoked  a  cigar  half 
through,  lighting  it  three  times  in  the  process.  When 
it  went  out  for  the  fourth  time  he  dashed  the  stump 
into  the  fireplace  and  took  to  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room.  This  reminded  him  of  other  days,  days 
when  he  had  paced  the  deck  of  his  three-master, 
counting  the  hours  which  separated  him  from  his 
wife  and  his  home.  He  thought  of  the  welcome  he 
had  always  received  when  he  reached  that  home. 
Oh,  why — why  had  he  ever  retired  from  the  sea? 
That  was  where  he  belonged;  he  was  of  some  use 
in  the  world  there.  With  a  groan  he  stopped  pac 
ing  and  went  out  into  the  hall  to  listen  for  sounds 
from  above.  He  heard  the  low  murmurs  of  voices, 
the  voices  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  but  he  could 
not  distinguish  words.  Back  he  went  to  the  library 

182 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

and  lit  another  cigar.  These  cigars  cost  three  times 
what  his  old  Trumet  brand  had  cost,  but  he  got 
not  a  hundredth  of  the  enjoyment  from  them. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck  before  Gertrude  reentered 
the  library.  She  entered  quietly  and,  walking  over 
to  her  father's  chair,  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
He  looked  up  at  her  in  mute  appeal. 

"It's  all  right,  Daddy,"  she  said.  "You  can  go 
up  now." 

"But — but  she — is  she " 

"She  has  forgiven  you,  I  think.  You  must  be 
very  kind  to  her." 

"Kind  to  her?  Kind!  Why,  Gertie,  I  never 
meant  to  be  anything  else.  I  wouldn't  have " 

"Of  course  you  wouldn't.  Oh,  Daddy,  if  you 
weren't  the  very  worst  diplomat  in  all  this  world 
this  wouldn't  have  happened.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  all  about  it?  Why  didn't  you  write  me  the 
truth  long,  long  ago.  If  I  had  only  come  sooner! 
If  I  had  only  known!  Oh,  why  did  you  let  things 
reach  this  state?  Why  didn't  you  stop  it?" 

"Stop  it?    Stop  what?" 

"Oh,  everything.  Don't  you  remember  that  I 
told  you  to  send  for  me  if  you  needed  me?  To 
send  at  any  time  and  I  would  come?  And  don't 
you  remember  that  I  wrote  you  if  you  felt  this  mov 
ing  to  Scarford  was  wrong  to  say  no  and  stick  to 
it?  Why  didn't  you  do  that?" 

"Why,  I — I — Serena,  she  was  so  set  on  comin' 
and  all  that,  that " 

"I  know.  You  needn't  tell  me.  And  yet,  in  a 
way,  it  seems  strange.  I  remember  some  things 
Laban  Gin.n,  Azuba's  husband,  told  me  about  you 

183 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

and  your  ways  aboard  ship;  he  said  your  crews 
obeyed  every  order  you  gave  as  if  it  was  what  he 
called  'Gospel.'  You,  and  no  one  else,  was  master 
there.  However,  that  is  not  pertinent  just  now. 
Run  along  to  bed,  there's  a  dear." 

Daniel  obediently  rose. 

"But  what  are  you  goin'  to  do,  Gertie?"  he 
asked. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do.  First  of 
all  I  am  going  to  see  and  find  out  for  myself.  Then 
I  shall  decide.  One  thing  seems  certain:  I  shall  not 
go  back  to  college." 

"Not  go  back!  Not  go  back  to  college?  Why, 
it's  your  last  term!  What'll  your  mother  say? 
What'll  John  say?" 

Gertrude's  lips  closed  tightly  and  she  gave  a  de 
termined  toss  of  her  head. 

"John  will  say  what  I  say,  I  think,"  she  declared. 
"As  for  Mother — well,  what  she  says  won't  make 
any  difference,  not  at  present.  Good-night,  Daddy. 
Now  don't  worry,  and,"  she  repressed  a  smile,  "be 
very  careful  and,  if  you  must  express  your  opinion 
of  the  Chapter,  do  it  in  the  back  yard  or  somewhere 
out  of  hearing.  Good-night." 

She  kissed  him  and  he  went  slowly  and  fearfully 
upstairs.  Serena's  attitude  of  reproachful  and  self- 
sacrificing  forgiveness  he  met  with  meek  repentance 
and  promises  not  to  offend  again.  He  got  into  bed, 
worn  out  and  troubled,  but  with  a  ray  of  hope  in  his 
bosom,  nevertheless.  Gertie  had  come  home;  Gertie 
was  going  to  do  something  or  other,  he  did  not 
know  and  could  not  guess  what.  At  any  rate  she 
was  with  him,  and  he  could  see  her  every  day.  Per- 

184 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

haps — perhaps — still  wondering  perhapses  he  fell 
asleep. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  the  young  lady  seemed 
to  be  in  good  spirits  and,  except  for  Serena's  ab 
sence — Serena  had  breakfast  in  her  room,  a  pro 
ceeding  which  was  apparently  developing  into  a 
habit — the  meal  was  to  Daniel  quite  like  one  of  the 
happy  breakfasts  of  Trumet  days.  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  marred  the  captain's  pleasure  somewhat  by 
joining  the  pair  before  they  left  the  table,  and  to 
him  Gertrude  was  surprisingly  cordial  and  communi 
cative.  Cousin  Percy,  who  had  been,  at  first,  rather 
on  his  guard,  soon  thawed  and  became  almost  lo 
quacious.  Gertrude  and  he  found  a  kindred  taste 
for  pictures  and  art  in  general,  and  before  the  cap 
tain's  second  cup  of  coffee  was  disposed  of  Mr. 
Hungerford  had  invited  Miss  Dott  to  accompany 
him  to  a  water-color  exhibition  at  a  neighboring 
studio.  Gertrude  said  she  thought  she  might  accept 
the  invitation,  if  the  exhibition  was  to  remain  for 
a  few  days. 

"Is  the  artist  a  friend  of  yours?"  she  asked 
casually. 

"Oh,  no,"  was  the  languid  answer.  "He's  a  queer 
old  gink — old  chap,  I  mean — whose  work  is  quite 
the  go  about  here  recently.  Some  very  decent  people 
have  taken  him  up,  I  believe.  He's  worth  meeting, 
so  I'm  told,  as  a  curiosity.  I've  seen  only  two  or 
three  of  his  paintings,  but  they're  really  not  bad. 
Some  of  the  fellows  at  the  club  were  talking  about 
him  the  other  night.  I  think  you'd  enjoy  the  exhibi 
tion,  Miss  Dott." 

"I'm  sure  I  should.  I  should  like  to  see  the  pic- 
185 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

tures  and  the — er — gink  as  well.    Thank  you  very 
much,  Cousin  Percy." 

When  they  were  alone,  Captain  Dan  turned  to 
his  daughter  in  puzzled  amazement. 

"What  did  you  call  him  'Cousin  Percy'  for?"  he 
demanded.  "Thought  you  thought  your  mother  and 
I  callin'  him  that  was  funny;  you  said  you  did." 

Gertrude  laughed.  "Did  I  ?"  she  replied.  "Well, 
perhaps  I  think  so  still." 

Whatever  she  may  have  thought,  it  did  not  pre 
vent  her  continuing  to  be  very  cordial  to  the  newly 
discovered  relative.  He  and  she  were  together  a 
good  deal  during  the  day.  She  seemed  to  really 
enjoy  his  society.  The  remainder  of  the  time  she 
spent  with  her  mother.  Captain  Dan  scarcely  saw 
her  except  at  luncheon  and  dinner.  Once  he  found 
her  in  the  kitchen  talking  with  Azuba,  and  on  another 
occasion  she  and  Mr.  Hapgood  were  in  conversation, 
but  for  her  father  she  could  spare  only  odd  mo 
ments.  The  captain  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
it.  When,  taking  advantage  of  a  fleeting  opportu 
nity,  he  asked  her  she  only  laughed. 

"I  am  very  busy,  Daddy,"  she  said.  "You 
mustn't  bother." 

"Bother!  Well,  I  like  that!  How  long  since 
my  company  was  a  bother  to  you,  Gertie?  It  never 
used  to  be." 

"It  isn't  now,  and  you  know  it.  But,  as  I  say,  I 
am  very  busy.  Business  first,  pleasure  afterwards." 

"Humph!  I'm  glad  I'm  a  pleasure,  even  if  it's 
the  kind  that  comes  after  everything  else.  What 
have  you  and  your  ma  been  talkin'  about  upstairs 
for  the  last  hour?" 

186 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"A  great  many  things — society  and  the  Chaptei 
and — oh,  all  sorts." 

"Want  to  know!  What  were  you  and  Azuba 
talkin'  about?" 

"About  household  matters  and  the  people  in  the 
house." 

"People  in  the  house !    What  people?" 

"You  and  mother  and  Mr.  Hun — that  is,  Cousin 
Percy — and  Hapgood." 

"That's  all  there  is,  except  yourself.  What  was 
you  and  Hapgood  havin'  a  confab  on;  more  house 
hold  matters?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  Daddy,  have  Mr.  Hungerford 
and  Hapgood  known  each  other  long?" 

"I  guess  so.  He  was  Aunt  Laviny's  butler  for  a 
good  many  years,  and  Percy  was  a  regular  visitor 
there.  What  made  you  ask  that?" 

"Feminine  curiosity,  probably.  Has  our  cousin 
many  friends  here  in  Scarf ord?" 

"Why,  he  seems  to  know  'most  everybody;  every 
body  that's  in  what  he  and  your  mother  call  society, 
that  is." 

"But  has  he  any  intimate  friends?  Have  you 
met  any  of  them?" 

"I  met  one  once.     He  seemed  to  be  pretty  in-  ' 
timate.       Anyhow,     they    called     each     other     by 
their  first  names.     Ho !  ho !  that  whole  thing  was 
kind  of  funny.     I  never  wrote  you  about  that,  did 
I?" 

He  told  of  the  meeting  in  the  Rathskeller.  Ger 
trude  evinced  much  interest. 

"What  was  this  friend's  name?"  she  asked. 

"  'Monty,'  that's  all  I  heard.    Queer  name,  ain't 
187 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

it — isn't  it,  I  mean.  But  it  ain't  any  queerer  than 
'Tacks';  that's  what  he  called  Hungerford." 

"Has  this  'Monty'  called  here?  Has  he  been 
here  at  the  house?" 

"No-o,  no,  he  hasn't.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him 
at  the  club,  that  time  when  I  went  there  with  Barney 
— Godfreys !  it's  a  good  thing  Serena  didn't  hear  me 
say  that — with  Phelps  Black,  I  mean." 

"Daddy,  sometime  when  you  have  an  opportunity, 
ask  Mr.  Black  about  this  Monty,  will  you?" 

"Sartin,  if  you  want  me  to.  But  what  do  you 
care  about  Percy  Hungerford's  friends?" 

"I  don't — about  his  friends." 

With  which  enigmatical  remark  she  moved  away 
to  join  Cousin  Percy,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

During  the  next  three  days,  Daniel's  feeling  that 
his  daughter  was  neglecting  him  grew  stronger  than 
ever.  Her  "business,"  whatever  it  might  be,  occu 
pied  practically  all  her  time,  and  the  captain  and 
she  were  scarcely  ever  alone.  He  was  disappointed. 
He  had  regarded  her  coming  as  the  life  preserver 
which  was  to  help  him  through  the  troubled  waters 
to  dry  land,  and  so  far  he  was  as  helplessly  adrift 
as  before.  Serena  had  forgiven  his  profane  ex 
pression  concerning  her  beloved  Chapter,  that  was 
true,  but  Serena  also  was  "busy"  during  the  days 
and  evenings,  and  at  bedtime  she  was  too  tired  to 
talk.  Gertrude  was  with  her  mother  a  great  deal, 
and  with  Cousin  Percy  almost  as  much.  They  vis 
ited  the  water-color  exhibition  together,  and  would 
have  gone  on  other  excursions  if  the  cousin  had  had 
his  way.  Daniel  did  not  like  Mr.  Hungerford.  He 
had  grown  to  tolerate  him  because  Serena  liked  him 

188 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

so  much,  and  declared  him  such  a  help  in  her  literary 
and  political  labors,  but  the  captain  had  found  secret 
comfort  in  the  belief  that  his  daughter  did  not  like 
him  any  better  than  he  did.  Now  it  looked  as  if 
she  was  beginning  to  like  him,  after  all.  And  there 
was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Cousin  Percy  liked  her. 

Gertrude's  apparent  interest  in  her  mother's  so 
cial  and  Chapter  affairs  was  another  disquieting  fea 
ture  of  the  situation,  as  Daniel  viewed  it.  Mrs. 
Black  and  Mrs.  Lake  called  one  afternoon  and  to 
them  the  young  lady  was  cordiality  itself.  They 
talked  "Chapter,"  of  course,  and  to  her  father's 
horror  Gertrude  talked  it,  too.  Being  invited  to 
attend  the  next  meeting  she  announced  that  she 
should  be  delighted  to  go. 

"You  didn't  mean  it,  did  you,  Gertie?"  pleaded 
the  captain,  when  Serena  had  escorted  the  guests 
to  the  door.  "You  didn't  mean  you  was  figgerin' 
to  go  to  that  devilish — to  that  Chapter?" 

"Hush!     Yes,  of  course  I  meant  it." 

"But— but  you!" 

"Hush!  Daddy,  don't  interfere.  I  know  what 
I'm  about." 

Daniel  was  doubtful.  If  she  had  known  she 
surely  would  not  think  of  going.  And  yet,  on  the 
evening  of  the  meeting,  go  she  did.  The  meeting 
was  a  protracted  one,  and,  on  their  return,  Serena, 
finding  the  lower  rooms  apparently  deserted,  went 
upstairs.  Gertrude  was  about  to  follow,  but  a  fig 
ure  stepped  from  the  shadows  of  the  library  and 
detained  her. 

"Why,  Daddy!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  are  you 
doing  up  at  this  hour?" 

189 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Sh-sh!"  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "Don't  let  your 
mother  hear  you.  I — I've  been  waitin'  for  you, 
Gertie.  I  just  had  to  talk  to  you.  Come  in  here." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  library. 

"Don't  say  anything,"  he  whispered;  "that  is, 
don't  say  very  much.  Serena'll  be  wantin'  to  know 
where  I  am  in  a  minute.  Gertie,  what  are  you  up 
to?  Why  did  you  go  to  that  Chapter?" 

"Hush,  Daddy,  hushl     It  is  all  right." 

"All  right!  Yes,  I  know  it's  all  right  so  far. 
That's  what  your  mother  used  to  say,  back  in  Tru- 
met,  when  she  first  started  in.  You  begin  by  sayin' 
it's  all  right  and  pretty  soon  it  is  all  right.  It  ain't 
all  right  for  me — it's  all  wrong.  Why  did  you  go 
to  that  meetin'?" 

"I  went  because  I  wanted  to  see  for  myself.  And 
I  saw." 

"Yes,  you  saw.  And  you  heard,  too,  I'll  bet  you. 
Weil,  did  you  like  it?" 

"Like  it!  Daddy,  tell  me:  There  is  another 
Woman's  Club  in  Scarford,  isn't  there?  This  can't 
be  the  only  one." 

"No,  it  ain't.  I  believe  there's  another.  A  dif 
ferent  one — a  sensible  one,  so  I've  heard  tell.  Mrs. 
Fenholtz — you've  heard  me  speak  of  her,  Gertie; 
she's  a  fine  woman — she  belonged  to  the  other  one. 
She  wanted  Serena  to  join,  but  Annette  Black  had 
her  innin's  first,  and  after  that  'twas  all  off." 

"I  see,  I  see." 

"You  see;  but  what  are  you  goin'  to  do?  Are 
you  goin'  to  any  more  of  them  blessed  meetin's?" 

"I  may.  I  probably  shall.  Daddy,  dear,  you 
must  trust  me.  It  is  all  right,  I  tell  you." 

190 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Ordinarily  this  would  have  been  enough.  But 
to-night  it  was  not.  Captain  Dan  had  spent  some 
troubled  hours  since  dinner  and  his  nerves  were  on 
the  ragged  edge. 

"All  right!"  he  repeated  impatiently.  "Don't  say 
that  again.  Is  it  all  right  for  you  to  be  gettin'  into 
the  same  mess  your  mother  is  in?  Is  it  all  right 
for  you  to  be  talkin'  about  society  and  Chapters 
and — and  I  don't  know  what  all?  I  did  trust  you, 
Gertie.  I  said  so.  I  told  Serena  so  this  very  after 
noon.  She  was  talkin'  about  Cousin  Percy,  she's  al 
ways  praisin'  him  up,  and  she  said  you  liked  him  just 
as  much  as  she  did.  He  was  a  cultivated,  superior 
young  man,  she  said,  and  you  recognized  it.  1 
laughed  at  her.  I  says,  'That's  all  right,'  I  says, 
'but  I  wouldn't  take  too  much  stock  in  that.  Gertie 
knows  what  she's  up  to.  She's  got  some  plan  in 
her  head,  she  told  me  so.  She  may  pretend ' ' 

His  daughter  interrupted  him. 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "Why, 
Daddy !  did  you  tell  Mother  that?" 

"Course  I  did!  Why  not?  It's  so,  ain't  it? 
What  is  the  plan,  Gertie?  W^hat  are  you  up  to? 
You  are  pretendin',  aren't  you?  Don't  tell  me  you 
ain't!  Don't  tell  me " 

"I  shan't  tell  you  anything.  You  don't  deserve 
to  be  told.  I'm  out  of  patience  with  you,  altogether. 

You  deserve  to  be  miserable.  You'll  spoil •* 

But  there !  good-night." 

"Gertie!  Gertie!  hold  on.     Don't " 

Serena's  voice  sounded  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"Gertie!"  she  called.  "Who  is  it  you're  talking 
191 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

with?  Is  your  father  there?  Why  doesn't  he  come 
to  bed?" 

"He's  coming,  Mother,  right  away.  So  am  I. 
Good-night,  Daddy." 

The  next  forenoon,  as  Azuba  was  blacking  the 
stove,  Gertrude  entered  the  kitchen. 

"Good-morning,  Azuba,"  she  said.  "Are  you 
alone?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I'm  alone." 

"Where  is  Hapgood?" 

"Land  knows!  Upstairs,  lookin'  out  for  that 
Hungerford  man's  clothes,  I  guess  likely.  He  waits 
on  that  young  critter  as  if  he  was  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  Well,  you  went  Chapterin'  and  advancin' 
last  night,  I  understand.  What  did  you  think  of 
it?" 

"Think?    I  thought Oh,  Azuba!" 

"Yup.  It'  'oh,  Azuba,'  I  guess.  That's  what 
I've  been  sayin'  to  myself  for  quite  a  spell.  I'd 
have  said  it  to  your  pa,  too,  if  it  would  have  done 
any  good." 

"It  wouldn't.  We  mustn't  say  a  word  to  him,  or 
anyone  else." 

"I  know.  And  yet,  when  I  think  of  the  way 
things  are  goin'  at  loose  ends  I  have  the  shakes. 
Do  you  know  what  it's  costin'  to  run  this  place  the 
way  it's  run?  I  know.  And  I  know,  too,  that  no 
body  else  seems  to  know  or  care.  Your  pa  trusts 
everything  to  his  wife,  and  she  trusts  everything 
to  that  Hapgood.  She  can't  be  bothered,  she  says, 
and  Hapgood's  such  a  capable  buyer.  Capable! 
he'll  be  rich  as  well  as  capable  if  it  keeps  on,  and 
the  rest  of  us'll  be  capable  of  the  poorhouse.  And 

192 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

there's  Serena's  health.  She's  gettin'  more  nervous 
all  the  time,  and  just  wearin'  herself  out  with  her 
papers  and  conventions  and  politics  and  bridge  and 
society.  My  land!  Don't  talk  to  me!  And  it 
ain't  no  use  to  talk  to  her.  There's  got  to  be  some- 
thin'  more'n  talk." 

Gertrude  nodded. 

"So  I  think,"  she  affirmed.  "Azuba,  I  have  a 
scheme.  It  may  be  the  best  idea  in  the  world  and 
it  may  be  the  worst,  but  I  am  going  to  risk  it.  And 
you  must  help  me.  Will  you?" 

"Sartinsure  I  will!" 

"And  you  won't  tell  a  soul,  not  a  living  soul?" 

"Not  one,  livin'  or  dead.  You  needn't  look  at 
me  like  that.  I  swan  to  mercy,  I  won't  tell  any 
body." 

"Good!     Then  listen." 

Azuba  listened,  listened  in  silence.  When  her 
young  mistress  ceased  speaking  she  shook  her  head 
slowly. 

"Well,"  she  observed,  "it  looks  some  like  hop- 
pin'  out  of  the  fryin'  pan  into  the  fire,  but,  even  if 
it  turns  out  that  way,  perhaps  it's  just  as  well  to  be 
roasted  as  fried.  Humph!  no,  'twon't  do  to  tell 
anybody.  I  shan't,  and  you  mustn't." 

"I  don't  intend  to." 

"Um!     Not  even  John  Doane?" 

"Well,"  doubtfully,  "I  may  tell  John  later  on. 
But  I  .shall  wait  to  tell  him,  I  shan't  write.  He'll 
have  to  trust  me,  too." 

"So  he  will.  Fur's  that  goes,  it's  a  good  thing 
for  men  folks  to  learn  to  trust  us  women.  If  Labe, 
my  husband,  hadn't  trusted  me  all  these  years,  he'd 

193 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  done  some  worryin',  I  cal'late.  All  right, 
Gertie,  I'm  with  you  till  the  last  plank  sinks.  But," 
with  a  chuckle,  "I'm  kind  of  sorry  for  your  pa.  The 
medicine  may  cure  us  all  in  the  end,  but  it'll  be  a 
hard  dose  for  him  to  take,  won't  it?" 


CHAPTER    IX 

CAPTAIN  DAN'S  foundations  were  slipping 
from  beneath  him.  His  daughter's  return 
had  seemed  to  him  like  the  first  ray  of  sun 
shine  breaking  through  the  clouds  and  presaging 
the  end  of  the  storm.  Now,  it  began  to  look  as  if 
the  real  storm  was  but  beginning.  Gertrude  was 
apparently  contracting  the  society  and  Chapter  dis' 
ease.  Gertrude,  upon  whose  good  sense  and  diplo 
macy  he  had  banked  so  heavily,  was  rapidly  losing 
that  sense.  So  far  from  influencing  her  mother  to 
give  up  the  "crazy  notions"  which  were,  Daniel 
firmly  believed,  wrecking  their  home  and  happiness, 
she  was  actually  encouraging  and  abetting  these  no 
tions. 

The  young  lady  was  certainly  spending  a  great 
deal  of  time  with  her  mother  and  her  mother's 
friends.  When  Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Lake  called 
for  consultations  concerning  Chapter  affairs,  Ger 
trude  took  part  in  these  consultations.  Daniel,  peep 
ing  into  the  library,  saw  the  four  heads  together 
over  the  table,  and  heard  his  daughter's  voice  sug 
gesting  this  and  that.  Invitations  to  various  social 
functions  came,  and  it  was  Gertrude  who  urged  ac 
ceptance  of  these  invitations.  Captain  Dan's  pleas 
for  quiet  evenings  together  at  home  went  for 
nought. 

"You    needn't    go,     Daddy,"     said     Gertrude, 
195 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Mother  and  I  know  you  don't  care  for  such  things. 
She  and  I  can  go  without  you." 

"Go  without  me?  The  idea!  Look  pretty, 
wouldn't  it,  to  have  you  two  chasin'  around  nights 
all  by  yourself,  without  a  man  to  look  after  you  I" 

"Oh,  Cousin  Percy  will  go  with  us.  He  is  always 
obliging  that  way.  Cousin  Percy  will  go,  I  am  sure." 

The  captain  was  equally  sure.  Cousin  Percy  was 
altogether  too  willing  to  go  anywhere,  at  any  time, 
provided  Miss  Dott  went  also.  This  very  obvious 
fact  did  not  add  to  Daniel's  peace  of  mind.  Rather 
than  have  his  family  escorted  by  its  newest  member, 
he  resolved  to  sacrifice  his  own  inclinations  and  go 
himself. 

Miss  Canby — the  blonde  young  woman  who 
played  the  piano  at  the  Black  home  on  the  night  of 
the  dinner — issued  invitations  for  an  "At  Home" 
in  her  apartments.  All  the  Dott  household — Mr. 
Hungerford  included — were  invited.  Mrs.  Black, 
who  came  to  call,  was  enthusiastic.  Her  jealousy  of 
Serena,  which  had  manifested  itself  on  the  night  of 
the  latter's  appointment  as  an  Atterbury  delegate, 
had  apparently  disappeared.  She  was  again  the 
dear  friend  and  counselor,  with  all  the  old  cordiality 
and  a  good  deal  of  the  old  condescension. 

This  condescension,  however,  was  confined  to  Se 
rena  and  Captain  Dan.  Toward  Cousin  Percy  she 
was  extremely  polite,  but  never  patronizing,  perhaps 
because  that  gentleman  was  so  languidly  at  ease  in 
her  presence.  He  listened  to  her  conversation  with 
apparent  interest,  but  his  answers,  gravely  delivered, 
at  times  a  trifle  sarcastic.  She  seemed  to  be  a 
196 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

bit  afraid  of  Cousin  Percy,  afraid  and  somewhat 
suspicious. 

To  Gertrude  she  was  gushingly  friendly,  over 
whelmingly  so,  and  the  friendship  was,  to  all  out 
ward  seeming,  returned.  Daniel,  who  had  gathered 
from  his  daughter's  previous  remarks  that  she  dis 
liked  the  great  Annette,  was  surprised  and  dis 
mayed. 

"For  goodness  sakes,  Gertie,"  he  demanded, 
"what  did  you  kiss  her  for?  Anybody'd  think  she 
was  somebody  near  and  dear  that  you  hadn't 
laid  eyes  on  for  ten  years.  And  she  was  here  only 
yesterday.  Do  you  love  her  so  much  you  have  to 
hug  her  every  time  you  see  her?" 

Gertrude  laughed.  "Do  you  think  I  do?"  she 
asked. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  It's  a  mighty  sud 
den  love,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Do  you  want 
her  here  all  the  time?" 

"Well,  when  she  is  here  I  know  where  she  is." 

"So  does  anybody  within  hearin'.  I  never  saw 
such  a  change  in  a  person  as  there  is  in  you.  And 
all  inside  of  a  week.  You  used  to  go  out  of  the 
room  when  that  Black  woman  came  into  it.  Now 
you  kiss  her  when  she  comes." 

"No,  Daddy;  I  kiss  her  when  she  goes." 

With  which  puzzling  statement  the  interview 
ended. 

B.  Phelps  accompanied  his  wife  when  the  latter 
called  to  discuss  the  Canby  invitation.  His  coming 
was  unusual,  the  Dotts  had  seen  comparatively  little 
of  him  since  their  arrival  in  Scarford.  Daniel  was 
glad  he  came.  Black  and  he  were  not  altogether . 

197 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

congenial;  the  captain  would  not  have  chosen  him 
as  an  intimate;  but  at  least  there  would  be  someone 
present  with  whom  he  could  exchange  a  word.  As 
B.  Phelps  did  not  care  for  Chapters  and  "At 
Homes"  any  more  than  he  did,  there  was  that  bond 
between  them. 

Mr.  Hungerford  was,  for  a  wonder,  not  in  when 
the  callers  came.  He  went  out  very  little  nowadays, 
except  when  Miss  Dott  and  her  mother  went;  then 
he  was  always  ready  to  go. 

Annette  declared  that  the  Canby  "At  Home" 
was  certain  to  be  a  most  unusual  affair.  "So — er — 
well,  so  different,"  she  explained.  "Miss  Canby  is 
a  very  unusual  woman,  a  unique  woman,  and  her 
affairs  are  always  as  unique  as  she  is.  So  truly  Bo 
hemian.  I  adore  Bohemians,  don't  you,  Gertrude?" 

Gertrude  said  she  did.  "I  don't  knew  that  I've 
met  a  great  many,"  she  added,  "but  I'm  sure  they 
must  be  very  enjoyable." 

"Oh,  they  are!  And  Miss  Canby  is  one.  The 
very  first  time  I  attended  a  gathering  at  her  home 
I  said  to  myself:  'This  is  true  Bohemianism.' ' 

Captain  Dan  was  astonished. 

"Why!"  he  exclaimed,  "Miss  Canby's  folks  came 
from  Down-East  somewheres — Bangor,  Maine,  I 
think  'twas.  She  told  me  so,  herself." 

The  remark  was  received  in  various  ways,  by 
various  individuals.  Serena  frowned;  Gertrude  bit 
her  lip;  B.  Phelps  Black  burst  into  a  roar  of  laugh 
ter. 

"I  did  not  mean  my  statement  literally,  Captain 
Dott,"  explained  Annette  in  gracious  toleration. 
"But  when  people  are  independent  and  free  from 

198 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  usual  conventionalities,  as  Miss  Canby  is,  we 
speak  of  them  as  Bohemians.  It  is  an — er — a  term 
among  artists  and  musicians,  I  believe." 

Daniel  understood  little  or  nothing  of  this.  He 
understood  perfectly  well,  however,  that  he  had 
blundered  somehow,  a  glance  at  his  wife's  face  told 
him  that.  Gertrude  smiled  at  him  kindly  and  ob 
served:  "Father  is  like  myself,  his  acquaintance  in 
Bohemia  has  been  limited." 

Captain  Dan  muttered  that  he  guessed  likely  that 
was  so,  adding  that  he  had  an  Armenian  steward 
once  who  was  a  pretty  good  fellow.  Then  he  sub 
sided.  Serena  took  up  the  conversation,  changing 
the  subject  to  the  ever  fruitful  one  of  her  beloved 
Chapter.  In  a  moment  the  two  ladies  were  deep 
in  a  discussion  concerning  the  election  of  National 
officers  for  the  Legion,  an  election  which  was  to 
take  place  in  Boston  a  few  months  later.  Gertrude 
joined  in  the  discussion,  a  proceeding  which  her 
father  noticed  with  apprehension. 

Mr.  Black  accepted  an  invitation  to  smoke,  and 
he  and  Captain  Dan  went  into  the  library.  After 
the  cigars  were  lighted,  B.  Phelps,  lowering  his 
voice  so  as  not  to  be  heard  in  the  adjoining  room, 
said  suddenly: 

"Dan,  is  that  daughter  of  yours  going  off  her  head 
like  the  rest  of  the  females?" 

Daniel  was  indignant. 

"Off  her  head!"  he  repeated.  "Gertie!  She's  as 
smart  and  sensible  a  girl  as  ever  lived.  I  say  so, 
even  if  she  is  my  daughter.  What  are  you  talkin' 
about?" 

Mr.  Black  waved  his  hand.  "Keep  your  hair  on, 
199 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Dan,"  he  counselled  pleasantly.  "I  like  Gertrude, 
always  have.  I  always  thought  she  was  as  sensible 
as  she  is  pretty,  and  that's  saying  something.  But 
what  has  got  into  her  since  she  got  here  in  Scarf ord? 
You  used  to  tell  me  she  didn't  care  anything  for  so 
ciety  and  all  the  rest  of  it;  now  she  seems  to  be  as 
daffy  as  her — well,  as  my  wife,  if  you  like  that  bet 
ter." 

"Daffy!     See  here,  Barney  Black,  I " 

"Hush!  Don't  begin  to  yell  or  we'll  have  that 
hen  convention  in  the  parlor  down  on  us.  I'm  not 
finding  any  fault  with  your  daughter.  I'm  only  talk 
ing  for  her  good  and  yours.  What  does  she  care 
about  this  confounded  Chapter  foolishness?" 

"She  don't  care  nothin'  about  it." 

"Doesn't  she?  She  seems  to  be  mighty  interested 
in  that  talk  they're  having  in  there  now.  And  she 
was  as  joyful  as  the  rest  of  'em  over  this  Canby 
woman's  'At  Home.'  ' 

The  captain  was  quite  aware  of  the  apparent  joy; 
and  Gertrude's  growing  interest  in  her  mother's 
Chapter  and  its  members  was  too  obvious  to  be  de 
nied.  Nevertheless,  he  tried  to  deny  it. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  he  declared.  "She  and  Se 
rena  have  always  been  plannin'  together  over  thingsv 
and  this  Chapter's  like  the  rest,  that's  all.  As  for 
the  'At  Home,'  why — why — well,  Gertie's  young, 
and  young  folks  generally  like  a  good  time." 

"A  good  time!  Great  Scott!  Have  you  ever 
been  to  that  Canby  apartment  and  seen  the  crowd 

that No,  of  course  you  haven't.  Dan,  if  my 

wife  heard  me  she'd  take  my  head  off,  but  you're 
y-  il<\  friend  of  mine  and  I  like  your  daughter. 

200 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Listen  to  me:  Don't  let  Gertrude  go  to  that  'At 
Home'  if  you  can  help  it." 

"Don't  let  her!     How  am  I  goin'  to  help  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  Keep  her  in  the  house.  Lock  the 
door  and  hide  the  key.  I  would.  If  she  was  my 
daughter  I'd — I'd  chloroform  her.  Hanged  if  I 
wouldn't!" 

Captain  Dan's  indignation  was  rapidly  changing 
to  alarm. 

"See  here,  Barney,"  he  demanded,  "what  are  you 
tryin'  to  say,  anyhow?  What's  wrong  with  this 
Miss  Canby?  Out  with  it." 

"Nothing's  wrong  with  her,  so  far  as  I  know. 
And  yet  there  isn't  anything  right.  She's  good 
enough,  I  guess,  and  she  can  play  the  piano  like  a 
streak,  but  she's  a  fool.  She  and  the  gang  she  is 
with  are  bleached-haired,  frowzy-headed  idiots,  who 
hope  they  are  Bohemians — whatever  that  is.  They 
like  to  do  what  they  call  unusual  things;  they  like 
to  shock  people — think  it's  smart.  Don't  let  your 
wife  or  Gertrude — Gertie,  especially — get  in  with 
that  crowd.  They  don't  belong  there.  And  there's 
something  else." 

He  hesitated.  Daniel,  trembling  with  anxiety, 
urged  him  to  continue. 

"What  is  it?"  he  begged.  "What  is  the  some- 
thin'  else?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  It  isn't  my  business  anyhow.  I 
ought  to  keep  still." 

"Keep  still!  After  sayin'  as  much  as  you  have? 
You  go  ahead  or  I'll  shake  it  out  of  you  one  word 
at  a  time.  Heave  ahead  now!  I'm  waitin'." 

"Well,  then,  don't  get  mad.  Remember  I'm  say- 
201 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

ing  it  merely  as  a  friend.  Is  Gertie  engaged  to  be 
married?" 

"Sartin  she  is.  To  a  fine  fellow,  too.  What  of 
it?" 

"Why,  this:  If  she  is  engaged  why  is  she  trotting 
about  with  this  precious  cousin  of  yours — this  Percy 
Hungerford?" 

Captain  Dan  started  violently.  He  had  asked 
himself  that  very  question  many  times  during  the 
week  which  had  just  passed.  To  have  someone  else 
ask  it,  however,  was  too  much.  He  bristled  up  like 
an  angry  cat. 

"By  Godfreys!"  he  sputtered,  "what  do  you 
mean?  Do  you  mean  to  hint " 

"I'm  not  hinting  anything.  Be  quiet,  or  I'll  stop 
right  here.  What  do  you  know  about  Hunger- 
ford,  anyway?  Why  is  he  here  at  your  house?" 

"Here!  Why — why,  he's  here  'cause  we  asked 
him  to  stay.  He's  on  his  vacation  and  he's  just 
makin'  us  a  visit.  As  to  knowin'  anything  about 
him,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  him?" 

"Not  much.  Neither  does  anyone  else;  that's  the 
queer  part  of  it.  While  old  lady  Dott — your  Aunt 
Lavinia — occupied  this  house,  he  was  here  a  good 
deal.  He  didn't  do  anything  then,  except  to  be  a 
general  high-flyer  around  town  with  a  few  chums 
like  Monty  Holway,  who  is  another  gay  young 
bird  with  money.  After  Mrs.  Dott  went  abroad 
to  live,  he  left  Scarford  and  went  to  Providence  a 
while;  after  that  to  Boston  and  New  York,  and 
various  places.  He  had  the  reputation  of  being 
something  of  a  sport,  and  in  with  a  fast  set.  Now, 

202 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

all  at  once,  he  comes  back  here  and  settles  down 
on — with  you  and  your  wife.  What  did  he  do  that 
for?" 

"I — I  don't  know.  He  didn't  intend  to  settle. 
Says  he  didn't,  anyway.  As  for  bein'  a  sport — well, 
he's  told  us  about  that,  told  Serena  the  whole  yarn. 
He  owned  up  that  he  never  took  life  very  seriously 
while  Aunt  Laviny  lived;  had  plenty  of  money  and 
didn't  have  to.  But  now  it's  different.  He's  real 
ized  that  he  must  work,  same  as  other  folks,  and 
he's  doin'  it.  He  works  for  some  magazine  or 
other,  doin'  what  he  calls  literary  work." 

"Humph!    What  magazine  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  never  asked." 

"Well,  all  right.  I  tell  you,  honestly,  Dan,  there's 
a  feeling  that  he  is  working  you  and  the  family  for 
easy  marks.  You  give  him  a  good  home  and  plenty 
to  eat  and  smoke  and  it's  a  pretty  soft  thing  for  him. 
As  to  work — Humph !" 

Daniel  hesitated  now.  He  had  had  faint  but  un 
easy  suspicions  along  this  very  line,  although  these, 
like  other  suspicions  and  misgivings,  he  had  kept  ta 
himself.  And  Serena  was  such  a  firm  believer  in 
Cousin  Percy;  at  the  least  hint  against  that  young 
gentleman  she  flew  to  arms.  The  captain  remem 
bered  this  and  his  strong  sense  of  loyalty  to  his  wife 
caused  him  to  remonstrate.  He  shook  his  head. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  "you're  wrong  there,  Barney, 
sure  you  are.  Why,  Percy  has  done  a  lot  of  writin' 
and  such  since  he's  been  here.  He  goes  to  his  room 
'most  every  afternoon  to  write,  and  he's  helped 
Serena  with  her  Chapter  papers  and  speeches  more 
than  you  could  imagine.  As  for  Gertie's  trottin' 

203 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

around  with  him,  that's  just  foolishness.  She's  gone 
to  picture  shows  and  such  when  he  asked  her  to,  but 
that's  only  because  she  likes  such  things  and  wanted 
company  her  own  age.  It's  all  foolishness,  I  tell 
you.  If  anybody  says  'tain't,  you  tell  'cm  I  say 
they're  lyin'.  By  Godfreys !  if  they  say  it  to  me 
I'll " 

"There !  there !  Keep  your  hair  on,  I  tell 
you." 

'Tis  on,  what  there  is  left  of  it.  But,  Barney, 
what  sort  of  talk  have  you  been  givin'  me?  If 
Hungerford  ain't  all  right,  how  is  it  that  he  knows 
so  many  folks  in  this  town?  How  is  it  that  he's  in 
vited  everywhere,  to  all  sorts  of  places,  into  every 
body's  houses?  Invitations!  Why,  he  gets  more'n 
we  do,  and,"  with  a  sigh,  "land  knows  that's  enough, 
nowadays." 

B.  Phelps  grunted  contemptuously.  "It  is  easy 
enough  to  get  invitations,"  he  observed.  "When 
you've  been  in  this  town  as  long  as  I  have  you'll 
know  that  any  young  fellow,  who  is  as  good  looking 
and  entertaining  as  he  is,  will  be  invited  to  all  sorts 
of  things.  The  girls  like  him,  so  do  their  mothers — 
some  of  them.  But  there!  I  may  be  all  wrong. 
Anyhow,  I  mustn't  stay  with  you  any  longer  or 
Annette'll  be  suspicious  that  you  and  I  are  knocking 
her  dashed  Chapter.  I've  told  you  this  for  your 
own  good.  Gertrude's  a  bully  girl;  I  always  liked 
her — wished  a  good  many  times  I  had  a  daughter 
like  her.  I  should  hate  to  see  her  get  in  wrong  like 
— well,  like  some  people  you  and  I  know.  You  keep 
her  at  home  as  much  as  you  can.  Good  Lord,  man  1" 
with  sudden  vehemence,  "do  you  want  your  house  to 

204 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

get  to  be  an  empty  d d  hole,  only  fit  to  sleep  in, 

like — like Yes,  Annette,  I'm  coming." 

This  conversation  remained  in  Captain  Dan's 
head  for  days.  It  disturbed  him  greatly.  Several 
times  he  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to  Serena  con 
cerning  it,  but  each  time  he  changed  his  mind.  He 
even  thought  of  writir.g  a  note  to  John  Doane,  urg 
ing  the  latter  to  run  down  to  Scarford  for  a  few 
days,  but  he  was  fearful  that  to  do  this  might  be  a 
mistake.  John  would  tell  Gertrude,  and  she  might 
not  like  it.  Besides,  Gertrude  had  said  that  she  ex 
pected  John  to  come  before  very  long.  So  Daniel 
did  nothing  further  than  to  remonstrate  mildly  con 
cerning  the  acceptance  of  Miss  Canby's  invitation. 
As  he  gave  no  reason  for  his  objection,  other  than 
the  general  one  that  he  was  tired  and  did  not  care 
about  it,  his  remonstrances  were  unheeded.  He 
need  not  go  unless  he  wished,  said  Serena,  she  and 
Gertrude  and  Cousin  Percy  could  go  and  he  could 
stay  at  home  and  rest.  Gertrude  said  the  same. 
When  the  evening  came,  the  whole  family  went,  the 
captain  included. 

Annette  had  characterized  the  gifted  Miss  Canby 
as  unusual,  and  the  social  affairs  given  by  her  as 
unique.  After  the  first  half  hour  in  the  "Bohemian" 
apartments,  Daniel  would  have  agreed  with  her,  al 
though  his  opinion  might  have  been  more  emphat 
ically  expressed.  Miss  Canby  was  unusual,  her 
apartments  were  unusual,  and  the  "Bohemians" 
there  gathered  most  unusual  of  all. 

Gertrude,  strolling  about  in  the  company  of  a 
young  gentleman — not  a  Bohemian,  but,  like  her 
self,  merely  a  commonplace  guest — found  her  father 

205 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

seated  in  a  corner,  sheltered  by  a  Japanese  screen 
and  an  imitation  palm,  and  peering  out  at  the  as 
sembled  company  with  a  bewildered  expression  on 
his  face. 

"Well,  Daddy,"  she  asked,  "are  you  having  a 
good  time?" 

Daniel,  who  had  not  noticed  her  approach,  started 
and  looked  up. 

"Hey?"  he  asked.  "A  good  time!  My  soul  and 
body!  Yes,  I'm  havin'  a  good  time.  I  haven't  had 
a  better  one  since  I  went  to  the  sideshow  at  the  cir 
cus.  Who's  that  long-legged  critter  with  the  lay- 
down  collar  and  the  ribbon  necktie  ?  That  one  over 
there,  talking  to  the  woman  with  the  hair  that  don't 
match.  What  ails  him?" 

Gertrude  looked  and  laughed.  "That  is  Mr. 
Abercrombie,  the  poet,"  she  said.  "Nothing  ails 
him;  he  is  a  genius,  that's  all." 

"Humph  I  That  must  be  bad  enough,  then. 
What " 

He  stopped.  His  daughter's  escort  had  caught 
his  attention.  The  young  man's  face  was  familiar. 

"Why!"  he  faltered,  "isn't  this " 

"This  is  Mr.  Holway,  Daddy.  I  wanted  you  to 
meet  him." 

Her  tone  was  quite  serious,  but  there  was  an  odd 
expression  in  her  eye.  Mr.  Holway,  blond,  im 
maculate  and  blase,  bowed.  Then  he,  too,  started. 

"Eh!"  he  exclaimed.     "Why,  by  Jove!" 

Captain  Dan  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  observed, 
quietly.  "Well,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Gertie, 
but  Mr.  Holway  and  I  have  met  before." 

Gertrude's  surprise,  real  or  assumed,  was  great. 
206 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Have  you?"  she  cried.  "Why,  how  odd! 
When?" 

Mr.  Holway,  himself,  answered.  He  seemed 
confused  and  his  explanation  was  hurriedly  given. 

"Your  father  and  I  met  one  afternoon  at — at  the 
Palatine,"  he  stammered.  "I — I  should  have 
known.  Tacks  told  me,  but — but  I  had  forgotten. 
I'm  ashamed  of  my  part  in  that,  Mr.  Dott.  I  really 
am.  I  owe  you  an  apology.  I  hope  you — I 
hope " 

Captain  Dan  nodded.  "All  right,"  he  said 
briefly.  "Don't  say  any  more  about  it." 

"But — but  I  hope  you  and  Miss  Dott  won't — 
won't  think " 

"We  won't.  I  won't,  anyway.  I  stopped  think 
ing  about  it  long  ago.  Well,  Gertie,  what  have  you 
been  doin'?  'Most  time  to  go  home,  is  it?" 

"Time  to  go  home?  Why,  Daddy,  we've  just  got 
here.  We  haven't  been  here  an  hour  yet." 

"Haven't  we?  I  want  to  know!  Seemed  a  good 
deal  longer  than  that  to  me.  All  right,  don't  you 
worry  about  me.  I  can  stand  it,  I  guess.  Where's 
your  mother  and — and  Cousin  Percy?" 

"Mother  is  in  the  next  room  with  Mrs.  Lake  and 
some  more  of  the  Chapter  members.  Cousin  Percy 
is Oh,  here  he  comes  now." 

Hungerford  appeared,  strolling  in  their  direc 
tion.  He  seemed  surprised  when  he  saw  his  rela 
tives  in  company  with  Mr.  Holway. 

"Hello,  Monty!"  he  said.  "You  here?  How 
are  you?" 

The  two  young  men  shook  hands.  Gertrude 
smiled  upon  them  both. 

207 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Father  and  Mr.  Holway  were  renewing  acquaint 
anceship,"  she  observed,  cheerfully.  "It  seems  that 
they  have  met  before." 

Cousin  Percy's  acknowledgment  of  this  state 
ment  was  a  brief  "Oh,  indeed!"  He  and  his  friend 
exchanged  glances. 

"The — er — performance  is  about  to  begin,  I  be 
lieve,"  announced  Mr.  Hungerford.  "Our  hostess 
has — er — reluctantly  consented  to  be  led  to  the 
piano.  Shall  you  and  I  adjourn  to  the  next  room, 
Cousin?" 

Gertrude  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  Mr.  Holway  has 
been  telling  me  the  most  interesting  stories  about 
Scarford  and  the  people  in  it,  and  I  want  to  hear 
the  rest.  He  is  dreadfully  sarcastic;  I  should  not 
listen,  I  know,  but  I  want  to.  Come,  Mr.  Holway." 

She  moved  away,  the  flattered  "Monty"  in  her 
wake.  Mr.  Hungerford  gazed  after  them.  He  ap 
peared  not  altogether  pleased. 

"Very  sociable,  chatty  chap,  that  friend  of  yours, 
I  should  judge,"  observed  Captain  Dan  drily. 

"Um-hm!"  grunted  Cousin  Percy.  "Been  chat 
ting  to  you,  has  he?" 

"No-o,  not  much  this  time.  But  you  remember 
I've  had  the  pleasure  before." 

Mr.  Hungerford  doubtless  remembered;  he 
looked  as  if  he  did.  Then  he,  too,  strolled  away. 
The  captain,  left  alone,  indulged  in  a  quiet  chuckle. 

Miss  Canby's  rendition  on  the  piano,  of  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  "A  sweet  little  thing  of  Tschai- 
kovsky's — one  of  my  favorites,"  was  enthusiastically 
applauded,  and  she  obliged  with  another,  and  still 

208 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

another.  Then  Mr.  Abercrombie  was  prevailed 
upon  to  read  one  of  his  own  outpourings  of  genius, 
a  poem  called  "The  Tigress,"  in  which  someone, 
presumably  the  author,  described  the  torments  in 
volved  in  his  adoration  of  a  feminine  person  with 
'"jetty  brows  and  lambent  eyes,"  whose  kiss  was  like 
"a  viper's  sting"  and  who  had,  so  to  speak,  raised 
the  very  dickens  with  his  feelings.  He  read  it  with 
passionate  fervor,  and  Captain  Dan,  listening,  de 
cided  that  the  Tigress  must  be  a  most  unpleasant 
person. 

However,  judging  by  the  acclaim  of  the  rest  of 
the  audience,  she  was  a  huge  success,  and  the  poet 
was  coaxed  into  reading  again,  this  time  something 
which  he  had  labeled  "Soul  Beams,"  and  in  which 
"love"  rhymed  with  "dove"  and  "heart"  with  "dart" 
and  "bliss"  with  "kiss"  in  truly  orthodox  fashion. 
Mr.  Abercrombie's  poetic  gems  were  not  appreciated 
by  the  mercenary  and  groveling  minions  who  edited 
magazines,  but  here,  amid  his  fellow  Bohemians, 
they  were  more  than  appreciated,  a  fact  which  their 
creator  announced  gratified  him  more  than  he  could 
express.  And  yet,  he  seemed  to  have  little  difficulty 
and  less  hesitation  in  expressing  most  things. 

Daniel  was  not  enthusiastic  over  the  poems.  He 
could  not  understand  a  great  deal  of  them,  but  he 
understood  quite  enough.  When  B.  Phelps  Black 
winked  at  him  from  his  seat  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  he  did  not  return  the  wink,  although  he  knew 
perfectly  well  what  it  meant. 

The  poems  were  bad  enough,  according  to  his 
figuring,  but  when  Miss  Beatrice  Dusante  tripped 
into  the  circle  to  slip  and  twist  and  slide  and  gyrate 

2OQ 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

in  "one  of  her  delightful  Grecian  dances,"  he  found 
himself  looking  about  for  a  convenient  exit.  Dis 
covering  none  he  remained  where  he  was  and  blushed 
for  the  company. 

The  Bohemians,  however,  did  not  blush;  neither, 
to  his  amazement,  did  Serena,  who  looked  on  and 
applauded  with  the  rest.  He  found  some  comfort 
in  the  absence  of  his  daughter,  who  was  not  among 
the  seated  guests,  but,  at  last,  even  this  comfort 
was  dispelled.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  Gertrude, 
still  accompanied  by  the  attentive  Mr.  Holway, 
standing  in  the  back  row.  He  tried  to  catch  her 
eye  and,  by  frowns  and  shakes  of  the  head,  to  indi 
cate  his  disapproval  of  the  dance  and  her  presence 
as  a  witness.  He  did  not  succeed  in  attracting  her 
attention,  but  when,  a  moment  later,  she  and  her 
escort  moved  off,  he  was  somewhat  relieved.  Ger 
trude  looked  as  if  she  did  not  care  for  Miss  Du- 
sante's  dancing  any  more  than  he  did.  Mr.  Hun- 
gerford,  also,  did  not  appear  interested.  He  was 
looking  at  Miss  Dott  and  "Monty,"  and  there  was 
a  frown  on  his  face. 

Upon  their  return,  after  they  were  together  in  the 
library  at  home,  Daniel's  shocked  indignation  burst 
forth. 

"Well!"  he  declared,  "that's  enough.  That's  the 
limit,  that  is  I  What  kind  of  a  gang  is  that,  any 
way?" 

His  wife  regarded  him  with  astonishment.  Ger 
trude,  after  one  glance  at  his  face,  turned  and 
walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  where  she 
busied  herself  with  a  book  on  the  table.  Cousin 
Percy  smiled  broadly. 

2IO 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Gang!"  repeated  Serena.  "Ping!  Why,  what 
are  you  talking  about,  Daniel?" 

"I'm  talkin'  about  that  gang  at  that  Canby 
woman's  place  to-night.  I  never  saw  such  a  brazen 
gang  anywhere.  Haven't  they  got  any  respectabil 
ity?  How'd  they  come  to  let  that  dancin'  thing  in 
there?  Couldn't  they  see  her  before  she  got  in? 
Couldn't  they  stop  her?  Why " 

Serena  interrupted.  "Stop  her!"  she  repeated. 
"How  could  they  stop  her?  She  was  an  invited 
guest." 

"Who  invited  her?  That's  what  I  want  to  know. 
Who  invited  her?" 

"Miss  Canby,  I  suppose.    She  is  a  friend  of  hers." 

"A  friend!    A  friend!" 

"Yes.  Now,  Daniel,  don't  be  silly.  I  know  what 
you  mean,  and  I  must  say  I  sympathize  with  you 
just  a  little.  Annette  explained  to  me  afterwards 
though,  so  I  suppose  it  is  all  right.  Annette  says 
that  this  Miss  Dusante's  dancing  is  all  the  rage  now. 
She  has  made  a  study  of  the  ancient  Grecian  dances 
and  she  does  them  everywhere.  She  is  paid  high 
prices  for  it,  too." 

"I  don't  doubt  it.  I  should  think  she'd  want  to 
be.  Did  you  see  the  way  she  wws  dressed?  I 
never " 

"Hush,  Daniel!  That  was  the  old  Greek  cos 
tume.  Miss  Canby  told  me  all  about  it;  the  old 
Greeks  used  to  dress  like  that." 

"They  did!  Then  it  didn't  take  'em  long. 
Brazen  thing!  Why!"  with  a  sudden  turn  upon 
his  daughter,  "Gertie — Gertie  Dott,  stop  fussin' 
with  that  book  and  listen  to  me.  You  were  there; 

211 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

I  saw  you  lookin'  on.  You  didn't  like  that  Greek 
dancin',  did  you?" 

Gertrude  hesitated.  Her  cheeks  were  red  and, 
for  a  moment,  she  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  speak. 
Then,  after  a  quick  look  at  her  mother,  she  an 
swered,  calmly: 

"Like  it  I  Why  not,  Daddy?  It  is  all  the  rage, 
just  as  Mother  says,  and  it  is  certainly  graceful.  I 
rather  think  I  should  like  to  learn  it  myself.  I 
understand  Miss  Dusante  gives  lessons." 

Daniel's  mouth  opened  and  remained  open. 
Cousin  Percy  stared  at  the  speaker.  Even  Serena, 
defender  of  the  dances  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  looked 
shocked. 

"Why,  Gertie!"  she  cried.  "Gertie!  You!  the 
idea!" 

"Why  not,  Mother?" 

"Why  not!  I  should  think  you  would  know  why 
not  I  never  heard  you  speak  like  that  before." 

"I  never  saw  any  dances  like  those  before.  I 
have  heard  about  them,  of  course,  but  I  never  saw 
them.  We  never  did — you  or  father  or  any  of  us — 
a  great  many  things  that  we  are  doing  now.  We 
are  learning  all  the  time;  that's  what  you  told  me, 
Mother.  I  never  went  to  a  Bohemian  'At  Home' 
before." 

Serena's  eyes  snapped.  "Well,  you'll  never  go 
to  another  one,"  she  declared,  "if  it's  going  to  have 
this  effect  on  you." 

The  young  lady  smiled.  "Why,  of  course  I  shall," 
she  cried.  "I  want  to  learn,  just  as  you  do, -Mother. 
And  I  mean  to.  Good-night!" 

She  left  the  room  and  they  heard  her  ascending 
212 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  stairs.  Daniel  and  Serena  looked  at  each  other. 
Cousin  Percy  looked  at  them  both. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Dott  had  a  long  talk  before 
retiring.  The  captain  derived  some  satisfaction 
from  the  talk;  it  seemed  to  him  that  their  daughter's 
declaration  of  independence  had  startled  Serena 
somewhat.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  admit  that, 
in  spite  of  Mrs.  Black's  explanations  and  gracious 
commendations,  she,  herself,  had  not  been  impressed 
by  Miss  Canby's  guests.  She  and  Gertrude  would 
have  an  interview  in  the  morning,  she  declared. 

Captain  Dan  waited  hopefully  for  the  result  of 
that  interview.  The  hope  was  crushed  when  Serena 
reported  to  him. 

"It  is  all  right,  Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Dott.  "I  guess 
Gertie  didn't  really  mean  what  she  said  about  taking 
lessons  of  the  Dusante  woman.  She  thought  the 
dances  graceful,  and  they  were,  of  course.  But 
Gertie  is  older  now — yes,  she  is  older,  and  she  ex 
pects  to  have  her  own  way  more  than  she  has  had 
it.  She  said  a  lot  of  things  to  me,  things  that  she 
hasn't  said  before.  It  seems  that  when  she  first 
came  home  she  was  inclined  to  think  I  had  exag 
gerated  when  I  wrote  her  about  the  lovely  people 
here  in  Scarford,  and  the  Chapter,  and  the  brilliant 
women  in  it.  Now,  she  sees  I  was  right.  She  has 
helped  me  a  good  deal  already  with  my  Chapter 
work,  and  she  means  to  do  more.  She  is  going  to 
join  the  Chapter  herself.  She — why,  what's  the 
matter?" 

Daniel  had  made  a  choking  noise  in  his  throat; 
he  appeared  to  be  strangling. 

"Noth — nothin',"  he  gasped.  "Nothin'  much. 
213 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

I'm  all  right.  But — but  you  said — why,  how  can 
Gertie  join  the  Chapter?  She  ain't  goin'  to  stay 
here.  She's  goin'  back  to  college  soon  as  her  vaca 
tion's  over." 

Serena  shook  her  head.  There  was  just  a  shade 
of  doubt,  almost  of  trouble,  in  her  voice  as  she  an 
swered. 

"No-o,"  she  said,  "no,  Daniel,  she  isn't.  She 
isn't  going  back  any  more.  She  thinks  it  isn't  neces 
sary." 

"Not  necessary!  Why,  how  you  talk,  Serena! 
Not  necessary  to  finish  out  her  last  term!  What 
do  you  mean?  One  of  the  things  that  troubled  me 
most,  back  there  in  Trumet  before  we  was  rich,  was 
that  I  might  not  afford  for  her  to  finish  out  at  that 
college,  and  now,  when  I  can,  she  ain't  goin'.  I 
say  she  is.  I  say  she's  got  to." 

"I  don't  believe  that  will  make  any  difference, 
Daniel.  She  seems  to  have  made  up  her  mind. 
I'm  kind  of  sorry,  I  must  say,  but  she  is  obstinate. 
She  says  it  is  so  much  more  interesting  here  that 
she  is  going  to  stay.  You  can  talk  to  her,  if  you 
want  to,  but  I  don't  think  it  will  do  any  good." 

Serena  was  right;  although  Captain  Dan  did  talk 
to  his  daughter  his  arguments  and  persuasions  were 
quite  useless. 

"No,  Daddy,"  said  Gertrude,  "I  am  going  to  stay 
right  here.  I  told  you  that  if  I  were  needed  I  should 
come  home.  I  have  come  home  and  I  am  needed. 
I  shall  not  go  back.  It  is  only  the  last  half  term, 
anyway." 

"Yes,  but  then's  when  the  girls  have  all  their  best 
times,  all  the  dances  and — and  entertainments  and 

2x4 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

society  times.  You  said  so.  Do  you  want  to  miss 
all  those?" 

Gertrude  smiled.  "Oh,"  she  observed,  "I  expect 
to  have  a  great  many  'society  times,'  as  you  call 
them,  right  here  in  Scarford.  There  seems  to  be 
no  lack  of  them,  and  Mother  is  decidedly  in  the 
swim.  It's  no  use,  Daddy;  my  mind  is  made  up. 
Don't  you  worry,  it  is  all  right." 

"Well — well,  I — I  must  say See  here,  are 

you  really  going  to  join  that  Chapter  thing?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  I     After  all  you  said " 

"Yes,  no  matter  what  I  may  have  said." 

"By — by  time!  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
you.  I — I  set  a  lot  of  store  by  you,  Gertie.  I  kind 
of  banked  on  you.  And  now " 

Gertrude's  expression  changed.  She  patted  his 
cheek. 

"Keep  on  banking  on  me,  Daddy  dear,"  she 
whispered,  "perhaps  I'm  not  altogether  hopeless, 
even  yet." 

But  her  father,  for  once,  refused  to  believe 
her. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  he  declared.  "And  other  folks 
don't  like  it,  either.  Why,  Barney  Black  got  after 
me  only  the  other  day  about  you.  He  wanted  to 
know  why  you — you,  an  engaged  girl — was  cruisin' 
around  so  much  with  this  Cousin  Percy  of  ours. 
He  thought  'twas  queer.  I  said " 

Gertrude  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  arm  was  snatched 
from  the  captain's  shoulder  so  quickly  that  he 
jumped. 

"Daddy!"  she  cried,  her  cheeks  blazing,  "do  you 
215 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

mean  to  say  that  you  have  been  discussing  me  with—* 
with  Mr.  Black?" 

"I  didn't  start  it,  he  did.    He  said " 

"I  don't  care  what  he  said.  Oh,  the  impertinence 
of  it  1  And  you  listened !  listened  and  believed " 

"I  didn't  say  I  believed  it." 

"You  did  believe  it,  though.  I  can  see  you  did. 
I  shan't  try  to  comfort  you  any  more.  You  deserve 
all  that  is  coming  to  you.  And,"  with  a  deliberate 
nod,  "it  is  coming." 

"Comin'  I  It's  here!  Gertie,  there's  another 
thing:  What  about  John?  What  do  you  think  John 
would  say  if  he  knew  you  weren't  goin'  back  to 
college?" 

Gertrude  looked  at  him.     Her  lips  twitched. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  mischievously,  "as  to  that — well, 
Daddy,  you  see,  he  doesn't  know  it." 

That  afternoon  Daniel  wrote  a  letter.  He  said 
nothing  to  anyone,  not  even  Serena,  about  the  letter, 
but  wrote  it  in  the  solitude  of  the  library  and  posted 
it  with  his  own  hands.  Just  before  sealing  the  en 
velope  he  added  this  postscript:  "Whether  you 
come  or  not,  don't  tell  a  soul  that  I  wrote  you  this. 
And,  if  you  do  come,  just  let  them  think  it  was  all 
on  your  own  hook.  This  is  important." 

On  Saturday  evening  there  was  to  be  a  meeting 
of  the  Chapter,  and  on  Tuesday  Serena  returned 
from  committee  with  the  joyful  news  that  Gertrude 
was  to  be  admitted  to  membership  at  that  meeting. 
The  young  lady  expressed  herself  as  delighted. 
Cousin  Percy  extended  congratulations.  Captain 
Dan  said  nothing.  Later,  he  visited  Azuba  in  the 
kitchen,  and  there  he  received  another  shock. 

216 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Azuba  was  not,  as  usual,  busy  with  her  cooking 
or  scrubbing.  She  was  seated  in  a  chair  by  the 
window,  reading  a  paper.  She  looked  up  as  he  en 
tered,  but  immediately  resumed  her  reading.  The 
captain  waited  for  her  to  speak.  As  a  general  thing 
he  did  not  have  to  wait. 

"Hello,  Zuba,"  he  hailed. 

Azuba  turned  a  page  of  the  paper.  She  did  not 
answer. 

"Hello!"  he  hailed  again.  "What's  the  matter, 
Zuba?  Gone  into  a  trance,  have  you?" 

"Hey?"  Azuba  did  look  up  then,  but  at  once 
looked  down  again.  "Hey?"  she  repeated.  "No, 
I  ain't  in  no  trance.  I'm  readin',  that's  all." 

"I  should  think  that  was  enough,  if  it  fixes  you 
so  you  can't  speak  to  anybody.  Must  be  mighty 
interestin'  readin'." 

"Hey?  Interestin'?  I  guess 'tis  interestin' !  It's 
more'n  that,  it's  upliftin',  too.  I'm  just  beginnin'  to 
realize  what  I  am." 

"That  so?    Well,  what  are  you?" 

"I'm  a  woman,  that's  what  I  am." 

She  made  the  declaration  with  the  air  of  one  im 
parting  news  of  a  startling  discovery.  Daniel 
laughed. 

"Is  that  so  !"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  well  I  I  want 
to  know !  I  always  suspected  it,  Zuba,  but  I'm  glad 
you  told  me,  just  the  same.  Does  it  say  so  in  that 
paper?" 

Azuba  rose  from  her  chair.  She  did  not  laugh; 
she  was  intensely  serious. 

"It  says  a  lot  of  things,"  she  announced,  "a  lot 
of  things  I  never  thought  of  afore.  I  don't  mean 

217 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

that  exactly.  I've  thought  of  'em,  but  I  never  knew 
how  to  make  anything  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  just 
kept  thinkin'  and  let  it  go  at  that.  Now,  I'm  be- 
ginnin'  to  realize.  I'm  a  woman,  I  am,  a  free 
woman.  That  paper  is  for  free  women.  Have  you 
read  it,  Cap'n  Daniel?" 

Captain  Dan  took  the  paper  which  she  extended 
to  him  at  arm's  length.  He  recognized  it  immedi 
ately.  It  was  "The  Woman's  Voice,"  official  organ 
of  the  National  Guild  of  Ladies  of  Honor.  Serena 
was  a  subscriber. 

He  glanced  at  the  paper  and  tossed  it  on  the 
table. 

"Yes,"  he  said  shortly,  "I've  read  some  of 
it." 

Azuba  seized  the  discarded  journal  as  if  it  were 
a  precious  treasure,  a  thing  to  be  treated  tenderly 
and  with  reverence. 

"Some  of  it!"  she  repeated.  "Humph!  I'd  read 
all  of  it,  if  I  was  you.  'Twould  do  the  men  good 
if  they  was  made  to  read  every  number  ten  times 
over.  It's  a  wonderful  paper.  It's  opened  my  eyes, 
I  can  tell  you  that." 

It  had,  apparently,  opened  her  mouth  as  well, 
although  to  do  that  required  no  great  urging  at  any 
time.  She  went  on  to  preach  the  glories  of  the 
"Voice,"  and  concluded  by  reading  an  editorial 
which,  like  Mrs.  Lake's  addresses  at  Chapter  meet 
ings,  contained  a  great  many  words  and,  to  the  cap 
tain's  mind,  little  understanding. 

He  listened,  fidgeting  impatiently,  to  perhaps  two- 
thirds  of  the  editorial,  and  then  he  interrupted. 

"Hold  on!     Heave  to!"  he  ordered.     "For  the 
218 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

land  sakes,  Zuba,  what's  set  you  goin'  like  this?    Are 
you  goin'  to — to " 

"To  what?    Am  I  goin'  to  what?" 

"Are  you  goin'  to  'advance'  or  whatever  you  call 
it?  What  ails  all  you  women,  anyway?" 

"What  ails  us?  Hain't  I  been  readin'  you  what 
ails  us?" 

"You've  been  readin'  a  whole  lot,  but  I've  heard 
it  all  before.  You  want  to  be  'free' !  Confound 
it,  you  are  free,  ain't  you?  You  want  to  take  your 
place  in  the  world!  Why,  you've  had  the  front 
place  ever  since  Eve  got  Adam  to  eat  the  apple.  She 
was  skipper  of  that  craft,  wasn't  she !  And  us  men 
— most  of  us,  anyhow — have  been  fo'mast  hands 
ever  since.  What  is  it  you  want?  Want  to  vote? 
Go  ahead  and  vote.  I'm  willin'." 

But  Azuba  laughed  scornfully. 

"Vote!"  she  repeated.  "I  don't  care  whether  I 
vote  or  not." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?" 

"We  want — "  Azuba  hesitated,  "we  want — what 
this  paper  says  we  want.  And,"  with  determination, 
"we're  goin'  to  have  it." 

"All  right,  have  it,  then!  Meantime,  let's  have 
dinner.  It's  pretty  nigh  half-past  five,  and  the  table 
ain't  set.  And,"  with  a  sniff,  "there's  somethin' 
burnin'  sornewheres,  I  smell  it." 

This  statement  had  an  effect.  Azuba  dropped 
the  precious  paper  and  sprang  to  open  the  oven 
door. 

"Well!"  she  declared,  "it's  all  right.  'Twas  that 
cranberry  pie,  and  'twas  only  beginnin'  to  scorch, 
•ft's  all  right." 

219 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Glad  to  hear  it.  Now,  say,  Zuba,  you  take  my 
advice;  you're  a  practical,  sensible  woman,  I  always 
said  so.  Don't  you  get  to  be  silly,  at  your  age." 

It  was  an  impolitic  remark.    Azuba  bristled. 

"At  my  age!"  she  repeated.  "Humph I  I  ain't 
so  much  older  than  some  folks  in  this  kitchen,  nor 
in  the  rest  of  the  house,  either.  What  do  you  mean 
by  silly?" 

"I  mean — I  mean — well,  I  mean  don't  you  get  to 
joinin'  lodges  and  readin'  papers  and  racin'  out  every 
night  in  the  week  to  somethin'  or  other.  It  ain't 
worth  while.  It's  silly — just  silly." 

"Oh,  is  it!  Well,  other  women  do  it.  Your 
wife's  been  doin'  it  ever  since  we  got  here.  And 
now  Gertie's  startin'  in.  You  always  made  your 
brags  that  she  was  about  as  sensible,  smart  a  girl  as 
ever  drawed  breath.  7  ain't  got  money;  nobody's 
left  me  a  cart  load  of  dollars  and  a  swell  front 
house.  But  I've  got  rights  and  feelin's.  I'm  a 
woman,  a  free  woman,  and  if  it  ain't  silly  for  Mrs. 
Dott  and  Gertie  to  want  to  advance  and — and  so  on, 
I  cal'late  'tain't  silly  for  me  either.  Perhaps  you'd 
like  to  have  me  tell  Serena  that  you  said  she  was 
silly.  Shall  I?" 

Daniel  did  not  answer,  but  his  look  was  answer 
sufficient.  Azuba  smiled  triumphantly. 

"Practical,"  she  sneered.  "No,  Cap'n  Daniel,  I 
ain't  been  practical  so  far,  but  I'm  goin'  to  be.  I'm 
a-goin'  to  be.  You  watch  me." 

Her  employer's  guns  were  spiked.  He  marched 
out  of  the  kitchen,  slamming  the  door  viciously.  The 
library  was  tenanted  by  Cousin  Percy,  who  was  tak 
ing  a  nap  on  the  lounge.  Upstairs,  Gertrude  was 

220 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

helping  her  mother  with  a  "report"  of  some  kind. 
Hapgood,  the  butler,  was  in  the  hall,  and  he  bowed 
respectfully. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.    "Did  you  wish  anything,  sir?" 

"No,"  snarled  Captain  Dan,  and  went  out  for  a 
walk.  This  was  the  last  straw.  If  Azuba  was  going 
crazy  the  situation  was  hopeless  indeed.  And  he 
had  received  no  reply  to  his  letter. 

Hapgood,  left  alone  in  the  hall,  grinned,  strolled 
into  the  library  and,  regardless  of  Mr.  Hungerford's 
presence,  filled  his  pockets  with  cigars  from  his  em 
ployer's  box.  Downstairs,  in  the  kitchen,  Azuba  was 
busy  getting  dinner.  At  intervals  she  burst  out 
laughing. 

That  evening  Mr.  "Monty"  Hoi  way  called. 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.  HOLWAY'S  call  was,  ostensibly,  a  call 
upon  the  Dott  family  in  general,  but  it  was 
to  Gertrude  that  he  addressed  most  of  his 
conversation.  The  young  lady  was  very  affable  and 
gracious.  She  expressed  herself  as  glad  to  see  him, 
and  she  appeared  to  be.  "Monty"  was  a  voluble 
person,  and  he  talked  a  great  deal,  although  a  critic 
might  possibly  have  considered  his  remarks  more  re 
markable  for  quantity  than  quality.  In  the  presence 
of  Captain  Dan  he  appeared  a  trifle  ill  at  ease,  a  fact 
which  the  captain  attributed  to  circumstances  attend 
ing  their  first  meeting.  Serena  seemed  somewhat 
surprised  at  the  call.  She  regarded  her  daughter 
and  Mr.  Hohvay  with  an  odd  expression,  and,  so  it 
seemed  to  her  husband,  was  apparently  dissatisfied 
or  disturbed.  At  all  events  she  said  little  and,  when 
addressed,  answered  absent-mindedly. 

Mr.  Hungerford  was  the  most  surprised  of  all. 
He  had  been  out,  and  when,  returning,  he  found  his 
friend  in  the  drawing-room,  his  greeting  was  not  too 
cordial.  Mr.  Holway  also  seemed  embarrassed,  and 
a  bit  on  his  guard. 

"Hello,  Tacks  !M  he  said,  rising  and  extending  his 
hand. 

Cousin  Percy  did  not  see  the  hand,  or,  if  he  saw 
it,  did  no*:  offer  his  own. 

222 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Hello,"  he  said,  gruffly.  Then,  after  a  quick 
glance  at  the  quartette  in  the  drawing-room,  he 
pulled  forward  a  chair  and,  without  waiting  for  an 
invitation,  seated  himself. 

"How  goes  it?"   inquired  Monty. 

"All  right  enough.  Oh — er — Gertrude,  I've 
found  out  about  that  recital  affair.  It  is  next 
Wednesday  afternoon.  I  have  arranged  for  us  to 
go.  Rather  difficult  business  to  manage,  at  such  a 
late  date,  but  I  managed  to  pull  it  off." 

Gertrude  smilingly  declared  that  she  was  much 
obliged.  "I  don't  know,  of  course,"  she  added, 
"what  Mother's  plans  for  that  day  may  be,  but  if 
she  is  not  busy  I'm  sure  we  shall  be  pleased  to  go. 
Thank  you  for  thinking  of  us." 

Mr.  Hungerford  hesitated.  "Well,"  he  said,  "to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  had  supposed  that  Mrs.  Dott 
might  be  rather  busy.  It  is  your  committee  meeting 
afternoon,  isn't  it,  Mrs.  Dott?  and  so  I  arranged  for 
only  two.  Awfully  stupid  of  me,  I  know." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right.  You  and  Mother  can 
go,  then.  I  don't  mind  at  all.  Really,  I  don't.  And 
Mother  is  so  fond  of  music.  It  is  all  right,  Mother," 
turning  to  Serena,  who  had  been  about  to  speak,  "you 
can  go  just  as  well  as  not.  You  must.  Never  mind 
the  committee  meeting;  I'll  act  as  your  substitute 
there." 

Cousin  Percy  was  not  overcome  with  joy;  at  least, 
he  managed  to  restrain  his  ecstasy.  Mr.  Holway 
volunteered  a  word. 

"Is  it  the  Wainwright  Recital  you  are  talking 
about?"  he  inquired,  eagerly.  "That's  all  right. 
I  can  get  cards  for  that.  It's  a  cinch.  I'll  see  that 

223 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

you  go,  Miss  Dott.  By  George !  I'll — I'll  go  my 
self.  Yes,  I  will,  really.  We'll  all  go." 

This  prompt  suggestion  should  have  cleared  the 
air.  Somehow  it  did  not.  Mr.  Hungerford  merely 
grunted.  Gertrude  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  think,  perhaps,  I  had  better 
not  go,  after  all.  But  it  is  ever  so  nice  of  you  to 
offer,  Mr.  Holway.  You  and  Cousin  Percy  can  take 
Father  and  Mother.  That  will  be  splendid." 

"Don't  bother  about  me,"  put  in  Daniel,  hastily. 
Recitals  were  almost  as  distasteful  as  Chapter  meet 
ings  or  "At  Homes"  to  his  mind. 

"It  won't  be  any  bother,  I'm  sure,"  declared  Ger 
trude.  "Will  it,  Cousin  Percy?  Will  it,  Mr.  Hol 
way?" 

Both  the  young  gentlemen  murmured  their  pleas 
ure  at  the  prospect  of  acting  as  escorts  to  the  elder 
members  of  the  Dott  family.  Serena  said  she  would 
"see  about  it,"  she  couldn't  say  for  certain  whether 
or  not  she  would  be  able  to  attend  the  recital.  Cap 
tain  Dan  said  nothing. 

The  conversation  dragged  somewhat  after  this. 
"Monty"  and  Mr.  Hungerford  addressed  the  great 
er  portion  of  their  remarks  to  Gertrude,  only  occa 
sionally  favoring  Serena  and  Daniel  with  a  word  or 
question.  To  each  other  they  were  very  uncommuni 
cative.  At  last,  however,  after  Mr.  Holway  hac* 
given  a  very  full  account  of  a  "dinner  dance"  which 
he  had  recently  attended,  "a  very  exclusive  affair, 
only  the  best  people,  you  know,"  Percy,  who  had 
been  listening  impatiently,  turned  toward  him  and 
drawled: 

"I  remember  that  dance.  Beastly  tiresome,  I 
224 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

judged  it  would  be,  so  I  sent  regrets.  I  heard  you 
enjoyed  yourself,  old  chap.  Said  I  imagined  so,  con 
sidering  your  company.  By  the  way,  that  must  be 
getting  quite  serious,  that  affair  of  yours.  When  may 
we  expect  the  announcement?" 

Holway  colored.  His  usual  facility  of  speech 
seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 

"Announcement!"  he  stammered.  "Announce 
ment  !  What — what " 

His  friend  laughed. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  old  man,"  he  observed.  "Don't 
get  excited.  She's  a  charming  girl.  No  one  blames 
you." 

"Monty"  continued  to  sputter.  Gertrude  was  all 
exckement. 

"Oh,  how  interesting!"  she  said.  "Do  tell  us 
about  her,  Mr.  Holway.  Do  I  know  her?" 

"Know  her!"  Mr.  Holway's  indignation  was  in 
tense.  "I — I  don't  know  her  myself.  He's  just  guy 
ing,  Miss  Dott.  He — he  thinks  because  he — he  is 
so  confoundedly  fascinating,  and  has  so  many — so 
many 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,  Tacks,"  turning  upon 
the  smiling  Hungerford,  "I  saw  a  friend  of  yours 
yesterday.  She  looked  quite  desolate,  quite  broken 
hearted,  my  word  she  did.  You  were  a  little  cruel 
there,  weren't  you,  my  boy?  Just  a  bit  cruel.  Every 
one  expected " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  his  expression 
indicated  that  much  was  expected.  It  was  Cousin 
Percy's  turn  to  color. 

"Don't  be  an  idiot,  Monty,''  he  snapped.  "That 
is,  more  of  an  idiot  than  you  can  help.  Don't  mind 

225 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

him,  Gertrude;  he  has  an  amazing  idea  of  repartee, 
that's  all." 

Serena  volunteered  a  remark  concerning  the 
weather  just  then.  She  observed  that  it  might  be 
raining,  it  had  looked  that  way  before  dinner.  Mr. 
Holway  possibly  considered  that  a  hint  was  involved; 
at  any  rate,  he  rose  and  announced  that  he  must  be 
going.  Gertrude  begged  him  not  to  hurry,  they  had 
all  enjoyed  his  call  so  much,  she  said.  Cousin  Percy 
suddenly  declared  that  he  would  accompany  his 
friend  on  his  way,  a  walk  would  do  him  good. 
Monty  expressed  no  enthusiasm  at  the  prospect  of 
company,  but  the  pair  left  the  house  together. 

After  they  had  gone,  Daniel  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Humph!"  he  observed,  "what  sort  of  talk  do 
you  call  that?  I  thought  those  two  were  chums ;  and 
yet  I  didn't  know  but  they  was  goin'  to  fight  one 
spell.  It's  a  good  thing  you  hove  in  that  about  the 
rain  when  you  did,  Serena." 

Serena  was  grave.     "Gertie,"  she  inquired,  "did 
you  ask  that  young  man  to  call  here?" 

Gertrude  was  the  picture  of  surprised  innocence. 

"Ask  him  to  call?"  she  repeated.  "Mr.  Holway, 
do  you  mean?  I  don't  know.  I  think  not.  Why?" 

"Why?"  Captain  Dan  almost  shouted  it.  His 
wife  motioned  him  to  be  quiet. 

"Hush,  Daniel,"  she  said.  "You  know  why, 
Gertie,  as  well  as  I  do.  You  are  engaged  to  be 
married." 

Gertrude  smiled.  "Of  course  I  am,"  she  an 
swered.  "What  of  it?" 

"What  of  it?" 

"Hush,  Daniel,  hush !    Engaged  girls,  Gertie,  are 
226 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

not    supposed   to   have    young   men    calling   upon 
them." 

"Oh,"  with  a  shrug.  "I  don't  know  that  he  was 
calling  on  me.  He  did  not  ask  for  me  when  he  came. 
And  you  and  Daddy  were  here  all  the  time.  Besides, 
merely  because  I  am  engaged  isn't  any  reason  why  I 
should  retire  from  the  world  altogether,  is  it?  Mrs. 
Lake  says " 

Daniel  struck  the  table  with  his  fist. 

"Mrs.  Lake!"  he  shouted.  "Mrs.  Lake  don't 
live  with  her  husband.  She's  a  grass  widow,  that's 
what  she  is." 

"She  is  one  of  Mother's  dearest  friends,  and  any 
friend  of  Mother's  should  be  good  enough  for  me." 

The  captain  choked.  "You — you  talk  to  her, 
Serena,"  he  stammered;  "I  can't." 

Serena  looked  more  troubled  than  ever. 

"Gertie,"  she  faltered,  "if  Mrs.  Lake  has  been 
advising  you — to — to " 

"She  hasn't  advised  me  at  all.  Now,  Mother, 
what  is  the  use  of  all  this?  If  I  have  learned  any 
thing  from  you  and  your  Chapter  friends  it  is  to  be 
broad-minded  and  independent.  If  Mrs.  Lake  is 
not  a  living  example  of  independence,  who  is?" 

Serena  could  not  seem  to  find  an  answer  at  the 
moment.  Her  husband  tried  again. 

"Gertie  Dott,"  he  declared,  "I — I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  you,  all  at  once.  And  John  Doane 
wouldn't  either.  If  John  knew " 

Gertrude  interrupted.  "That's  enough,  Daddy," 
she  said,  firmly.  "I  am  quite  willing  John  shall 
know;  when  I  am  ready  I  shall  tell  him.  He  is  a 

dear,  good  fellow,  in  his  way,  but " 

227 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

She  hesitated.  Her  parents  asked  a  question  in 
concert. 

"But  what?"   they  demanded. 

"Why — why,  nothing  of  importance.  But  I  am 
learning  here  in  Scarford.  My  opportunity  has 
come,  just  as  yours  did,  Mother.  I  am  a  free  woman 
and  I  shall  not  be  a  slave — a  slave  to  any  man." 

With  which  remark,  a  quotation  from  a  paper 
read  at  the  most  recent  Chapter  meeting,  she  walked 
from  the  room.  Her  astonished  parents  looked  at 
each  other.  Daniel  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"My  soul  and  body!"  he  gasped.  "What — what 
— Serena,  did  you  hear  what  she  said?  That  about 
John?  That  he  was  a  good  fellow — in  his  way? 
In  his  way!  My  soul  and  body!" 

Serena  shook  her  head. 

"I — I  don't  believe  she  meant  it,  Daniel,"  she 
said.  "I'm  sure  she  didn't.  She's  just  a  little  car 
ried  away,  that's  all.  All  this  society — this  altered 
social  position  of  ours — has  turned  her  head  the 
least  bit.  She  didn't  mean  it.  I'll  have  another  talk 
with  her  pretty  soon." 

"I  should  say  you'd  better.  Serena,  do  you  know 
what  I've  done?  Done  on  my  own  hook,  I  mean. 
I've  written " 

He  paused.  The  disclosure  which,  on  the  im 
pulse  of  the  moment,  he  had  been  about  to  make 
was,  for  him,  a  serious  one.  He  had  written  the 
letter  "on  his  own  hook,"  without  telling  his  wife 
of  his  action.  W'hat  would  she  say  if  he  told  her 
now,  so  long  afterward? 

"You've  done?  What  have  you  done?"  asked 
Serena  sharply. 

228 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  captain  still  hesitated.  Before  his  mind  was 
made  up  the  front  door  opened  and  Cousin  Percy 
made  his  appearance.  He  entered  the  hall  quickly, 
and  to  Mr.  Hapgood — who  hastened  from  some 
where  or  other  to  take  his  coat  and  hat — he  said 
nothing,  except  to  snarl  a  comment  on  the  butler's 
slowness.  He  did  not  speak  to  the  Dotts  either,  but 
tramped  savagely  up  the  stairs.  His  face,  as  seen 
by  the  electric  light,  was  flushed  and  frowning. 

Serena  turned  to  her  husband. 

"How  cross  he  looked,"  she  said,  wonderingly. 
"I  never  saw  him  so  before.  What  do  you  suppose 
has  happened?" 

Speculation  concerning  Cousin  Percy's  evident  per 
turbation  caused  her  to  forget  the  disclosure  Captain 
Dan  had  been  about  to  make.  By  the  time  she  re 
membered  to  ask  about  it  the  captain  had  decided 
not  to  tell.  He  fabricated  some  excuse  or  other, 
and  the  excuse  was  accepted,  to  his  great  relief. 

None  of  the  Dott  household  attended  the  Wain- 
wright  recital.  Mr.  Holway  called  on  Wednesday, 
just  after  luncheon,  to  say  that  he  had  obtained  the 
necessary  cards,  but  his  kindness  went  for  nought. 
He  stayed,  so  it  seemed  to  Daniel,  a  good  deal 
longer  than  was  necessary,  and  Mr.  Hungerford, 
who  remained  in  the  room  every  moment  of  the 
time,  evidently  thought  so,  too.  So  did  Serena. 
Gertrude,  however,  was  very  cordial,  and  again 
begged  the  visitor  not  to  hurry. 

Saturday  evening  was  that  of  the  Chapter  meet 
ing,  the  meeting  at  which  Gertrude  was  to  be  made 
a  member.  That  forenoon  Azuba  electrified  her 
mistress  by  expressing  an  ardent  desire  to  become 

229 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

a  member  also.     Her  wish  was  not  received  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Why,  what  do  you  want  to  do  that  for,  Azuba?" 
asked  Serena  in  amazement. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  want  to?  You're  a  member, 
ain't  you?  Gertie's  goin'  to  be  a  member  to-night, 
ain't  she?" 

"Yes.    But— but " 

"Well,  but  what?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  interested  in  such  things. 
You  never  were  when  we  lived  in  Trumet." 

Azuba  dismissed  the  past  with  a  scornful  sniff  and 
a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Trumet!"  she  repeated.  "Trumet  ain't  nothin*. 
Nobody's  anything  in  Trumet.  We're  in  Scarford 
now,  and  Scarford's  a  progressive,  up-to-date  place. 
We've  all  changed  since  we've  been  here,  and  I'm 
changin'  much  as  anybody.  I've  been  hearin'  your 
papers,  when  you  read  'em  to  Gertie  and  the  cap'n, 
and  I've  been  readin'  'The  Voice,'  too.  Yes  ma'am, 
I've  read  it  and  I've  found  out  what  a  back  number 
I've  been.  But,  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  so  no  more.  I'm 
goin'  to  be  as  up-to-date  as  the  next  one,  even  if  I 
do  have  to  wash  dishes  for  a  livin'.  Serena — Mrs. 
Dott,  I  mean — I'd  like  first  rate  to  join  that  Chapter 
of  yours.  You  put  my  name  in  to-night  and  maybe 
it  can  be  voted  on  next  meetin'." 

But — but,  Azuba,  are  you  sure  you  know  what 
it  means?  Do  you  think  your  husband  would  want 
you  to " 

"My  husband!  What's  he  got  to  do  with  it? 
If  we  free  women  have  got  to  be  slaves  to  our  hus 
bands  it's  a  pretty  state  of  things,  I  must  say.  You 

230 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

dcn't  ask  your  husband  every  time  you  go  to  meetin* 
whether  he  likes  it  or  not.  No,  ma'am,  you  don't  1 
You're  above  that,  I  cal'late.  And  I  shan't  ask 
Labe  neither — even  if  he  was  where  I  could  ask 
him,  which  he  ain't.  Husbands !  Don't  talk  to  me 
about  husbands!  They  don't  count." 

Serena  said  that  she  would  see  what  could  be  done 
and  hurried  away  to  discuss  the  new  development 
with  the  family. 

"Of  course  she  can't  join,"  she  declared.  "It  is 
ridiculous.  The  idea!  I  supposed  she  had  more 
sense." 

Daniel  chuckled.  "So  did  I,"  he  observed,  "until 
she  got  shoutin'  independence  to  me  the  other  day, 
But  it  looked  then  as  if  she'd  got  it  bad.  All  right, 
Serena,  if  Zuba  Jane  Ginn  is  goin'  to  make  speeches 
at  your  Chapter  meetin's,  I'll  go  any  time.  You 
won't  have  to  ask  me  but  once." 

He  laughed  aloud.    His  wife  was  vexed. 

"Of  course  you  think  it's  a  great  joke,"  she  said. 
"Anything  that  makes  trouble  for  me  is  a  joke  to 
you.  She  can't  join.  What  do  you  suppose  Annette 
and  Mrs.  Lake  and  the  rest  would  say  if  I  proposed 
my  servant  girl  as  a  member?  Do  stop  being  silly, 
if  you  can.  What  are  you  grinning  at  now?" 

Captain  Dan,  repressing  his  grin  with  difficulty, 
explained  that  he  was  thinking  of  what  they  would 
say.  Serena,  giving  him  up  in  disgust,  turned  to  her 
daughter. 

"Gertie,"  she  begged,  "why  don't  you  say  some»- 
thing?  Azuba  can't  join  that  Chapter  and  you 
know  it." 

Gertrude  shook  her  head. 
231 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  suppose,  she  can't,"  she  replied.  "And  yet,  I'm 
afraid,  Mother,  that  you  will  find  that  fact  rather 
hard  to  explain  to  her.  Azuba  doesn't  consider 
herself  a  servant,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  at  all.  She 
feels,  I  think,  that  she  is  a  friend  of  the  family. 
And  she  has  a  right,  of  course,  to  improve  and  ad 
vance  in  every  way.  I  am  very  much  pleased  to 
know  she  is  so  ambitious." 

"Ambitious !  Azuba  Ginn  !  What  does  she  know 
about  progress  or  advancement?  Who  put  such 
ridiculous  ideas  in  her  head?" 

"Perhaps  I  did.  She  and  I  have  had  some  long 
talks  on  the  subject.  She  asked  questions  and  it  was 
duty — and  my  privilege — to  answer  them.  I  am 
very  hopeful  of  Azuba.  She  is  my  first  convert.  I 
shall  help  her  all  I  can." 

"Help  her!  Help  her  to  what?  To  be  too  high 
and  mighty  for  her  place?  Help  her  to  be  dissatis 
fied  with  her  station  in  life?" 

"Yes;  why  not?  None  of  us  should  be  satisfied, 
short  of  the  very  highest.  Why,  Mother,  if  you 
had  been  satisfied  we  might  all  be  stagnating  in 
Trumet." 

Serena  abandoned  the  argument.  She  refused  to 
mention  Azuba's  desire  for  advancement  again.  Sev 
eral  times  during  the  day  Captain  Dan  saw  her  re 
garding  her  daughter  with  the  same  odd,  doubtful 
look  that  she  had  worn  when  Mr.  Holway  made 
his  first  call. 

After  dinner  that  evening  Gertrude  and  Serena 
hastened  upstairs  to  dress  for  the  Chapter  meeting. 
Mr.  Hungerford,  after  expressing  his  regret  that 
the  gathering  was  not  to  be  an  "open"  one  and  hef 

232 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

therefore,  would  not  be  permitted  to  see  Miss  Dott 
become  one  of  the  elect,  went  out.  When  he  first 
became  a  member  of  the  household  it  was  his  cus 
tom,  on  occasions  of  this  kind,  to  remain  in  the 
library  as  "company"  for  Captain  Dan.  Now, 
however,  he  seldom  did  this.  The  captain  did  not 
mind;  he  preferred  his  own  society  to  that  of  Cousin 
Percy. 

Just  as  the  ladies  descended  the  stairs  the  door 
bell  rang.  Hapgood  answered  the  ring,  and  the 
voice  which  replied  to  his  polite  query  concerning 
the  caller's  name  was  a  familiar  one. 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Serena,  "it  is — isn't  that " 

"It's  John!"  cried  Gertrude.     "Why,  John!" 

Mr.  Doane  pushed  past  the  butler  and  entered 
the  hall.  His  glance  took  in  the  group  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  but  it  lingered  upon  only  one  member 
of  it. 

"Gertie!"  he  said,  and  stepped  forward.  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Dott  looked  the  other  way;  Hapgood  gave 
his  attention  to  the  closing  of  the  door. 

A  moment  later  the  young  man  was  ready  to 
shake  hands  with  the  less  important  inhabitants  of 
the  mansion.  He  did  so  heartily. 

"My!"  he  exclaimed,  "but  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
all.  It  seems  a  hundred  years  since  I  did  see  you. 
How  are  you?" 

Serena  answered.  Captain  Dan,  his  first  surprise 
over,  seemed  nervous. 

"We're   real   well,"    declared  Serena.     "And   it 

seems  awfully  good  to  have  you  here.  Gertrude  and 
j »> 

Gertrude  interrupted. 

233 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"But,  John,"  she  said,  "how  did  you  happen  to 
come  so  unexpectedly?  I  didn't  know — you  didn't 
write  me  a  word  about  it." 

"I  didn't  know  it,  myself.  That  is,  I  wasn't  sure 
of  it.  You  know  our  junior  partner,  Mr.  Griffin, 
has  been  very  ill — I  wrote  you  that.  He  is  very 
ill  even  yet,  but  he  is  a  little  better,  and  so  I  grabbed 
the  opportunity.  I  should  have  come  before,  just 
as  soon  as " 

He  paused.  Daniel,  in  the  background,  was 
grimacing  and  shaking  his  head. 

"As  soon  as  what,  John?"  asked  Gertrude. 

"As  soon  as — as  soon  as  I  could.  You're  glad 
I  came,  aren't  you;  even  if  it  was  rather  sudden?" 

"Of  course  I  am.     You  know  it." 

Her  tone  was  hearty  enough,  and  yet  Mr.  Doane 
seemed  to  find  something  lacking  in  it.  Serena,  too, 
looked  quickly  at  her  daughter. 

"Of  course  she's  glad,"  she  declared.  "So  are 
we  all.  But  what  are  we  thinking  of?  Take  off 
your  things.  Where's  your  trunk?  Have  the  man 
bring  it  right  in." 

"There  isn't  any  trunk.  There's  a  bag  outside 
there,  that's  all.  My  visit  is  likely  to  be  a  very  short 
one.  If  I  should  have  a  wire  that  Mr.  Griffin  was 
worse  it  might  be  shorter  still.  I  should  have  to 
go  at  once.  But  we  won't  worry  about  that.  Din 
ner?  No,  thank  you,  I  have  dined." 

Captain  Dan  ushered  the  newcomer  into  the  draw 
ing-room.  John  exclaimed  at  the  grandeur  of  the 
apartment. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.  "You're  fine,  aren't  you? 
Gertie  wrote  me  how  grand  you  were  and  I  have 

234 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

been  anxious  to  see  the  new  house.  Gertie — why, 
Gertie!  what  is  it?" 

Gertrude  was  standing  in  the  doorway.  She 
looked  perplexed  and  troubled.  John  noticed,  for 
the  first  time,  that  she  was  wearing  her  coat  and  hat. 

"Were  you  going  out?"  he  asked. 

Gertrude  hesitated.    Serena  answered  for  her. 

"Gertie  and  I  were  going  out,"  she  said.  "It  is 
Chapter  night  and  she  was  going  to  be  made  a  mem 
ber.  But  you  won't  go  now,  of  course,  Gertie.  I'll 
go — John  will  excuse  me,  I  know — and  you  can  join 
at  the  next  meeting.  It  will  be  all  right,  I  think.  It 
will  have  to  be,  of  course." 

But  Gertrude  still  hesitated.  Her  father  was 
surprised. 

"Why,  Gertie !"  he  cried.  "What  are  you  stand- 
in'  there  for?  'Tain't  likely  you'll  go  to  that  meet- 
in'  now  that  John's  come  all  the  way  from  Boston 
to  see  you.  Tell  him  you  ain't  goin'." 

The  young  lady  was  plainly  much  disturbed.  She 
looked  at  Mr.  Doane  and  it  was  evident  that  she 
wanted  to  say  something  very  much  indeed.  What 
she  did  say,  however,  was  a  surprise  to  everyone. 

"I — I  ought  to  go,  John,"  she  faltered.  "It  is  a 
very  important  meeting.  I  can't  tell  you — now — 
how  important  it  is." 

John's  disappointment  showed  in  his  look,  but  his 
answer  was  prompt. 

"Then  go,  by  all  means,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  with 
you,  if  I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

But  this  self-sacrificing  proposal  was  dubiously  re 
ceived  by  both  the  ladies.  Serena  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  afraid  you  couldn't  do  that,  John,"  she  said. 
235 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"It  isn't  an  open  meeting,  and  men  are  not  admitted. 
But  Gertie  doesn't  need  to  go." 

"Yes,  I  do,  Mother." 

"No,  you  don't.  I'll  explain  to  Mrs.  Lake  and 
the  rest.  Of  course  you  won't  go  and  leave  John 
here  alone." 

"Daddy  will  be  with  him  and  I  shall  hurry  home 
as  soon  as  I  can.  I  must  go,  John;  I  really  must. 
I  will  explain  why  later.  If  I  had  only  known  that 
you  were  coming!  If  you  had  only  written  mel 
Why  did  you  come  without  writing?" 

Captain  Dan,  fearful  of  the  answer,  and  indig 
nant  at  his  daughter's  conduct,  burst  into  protest. 

"You  ought  to  be  glad  he's  come,  anyhow,"  he 
declared.  "I  cal'late  he  thought — I  don't  care,  Se 
rena,  I've  said  'cal'late'  all  my  life,  and  I  can't  help 
forgettin'  once  in  a  while — I  suppose  John  thought 
he'd  surprise  you,  Gertie.  And  now  you're  goin'  to 
clear  out  and  leave  him,  just  on  account  of  that — 
that  Chapter  of  yours.  You  never  used  to  be  crazy 
about  Chapters.  You  used  to  poke  fun  at  'em.  You 
did  and  you  know  it.  But  since  you've  got  here  to 
Scarford — I  can't  help  it,  Serena;  I'm  mad  cleav 
through.  Can't  you  tell  that  girl  to  stay  to  home 
where  she  belongs?" 

"Gertie,"  began  Serena,  again;  but  her  daughter 
would  not  listen. 

"Don't,  Mother!"  she  cried,  "you  are  wasting 
time.  We  shall  be  late,  as  it  is.  John  knows  that 
my  going  is  necessary,  or  I  should  not  do  it.  He 
trusts  me  to  that  extent,  I  hope." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Doane  heartily.  "Run 
along  and  don't  say  any  more  about  it.  Come  back 

236 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

as  soon  as  you  can,  that's  all.     Shan't  I  come  after 
you?     I  can  wait  outside  until  the  thing  is  over." 

"No;  I  don't  intend  to  wait  until  it  is  over. 
Mother  and  I  can  take  a  cab.  Come,  Mother." 

Serena  reluctantly  led  the  way  to  the  hall.  Hap- 
good  opened  the  door. 

"One  moment,  Mother,"  said  Gertrude.  She  left 
Serena  on  the  step  and  hurried  back  to  the  drawing- 
room.  Captain  Dan  and  John  were  standing  there 
in  silence. 

"Daddy,"  said  the  young  lady,  "I  think  I  left  my 
pocketbook  upstairs  in  my  room.  Will  you  get  it 
forme?" 

The  captain  ran  to  the  stairs.  Gertrude  stepped 
quickly  over  to  her  lover. 

"John,"  she  whispered,  "you  will  forgive  me, 
won't  you,  dear?  I  must  go.  It  will  spoil  every 
thing  if  I  don't.  You  see — why,  Daddy  1  you 
haven't  found  that  pocketbook  so  soon!" 

Daniel  had  reappeared  in  the  doorway. 

"I  sent  Hapgood  for  it,"  he  announced.  "It's  a 
good  thing  to  make  him  work  once  in  a  while. 
What's  the  use  of  my  runnin'  errands  when  I  pay 
him  wages  to  run  'em  for  me?  He'll  be  down  in  a 
minute." 

Gertrude  did  not  seem  pleased.  "Oh!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Well,  never  mind.  Why!  here  is  the 
pocketbook  in  my  bag,  after  all.  Good-by,  John. 
I  will  hurry  back.  You  and  Daddy  will  have  a  lot 
to  talk  about,  I  know.  Good-by." 

The  door  closed  behind  her.  Captain  Dan 
stepped  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Found  it  yet?"  he  shouted. 
237 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Hapgood  answered  from  above. 

"No,  sir,  not  yet." 

"Then  keep  on  lookin'  till  you  do.  It's  a  good 
excuse  to  keep  him  out  of  the  way,"  he  explained, 
turning  to  Mr.  Doane.  "He  makes  me  nervous, 
hangin'  around  and  lookin'  at  me.  I  never  was 
brought  up  to  a  butler  and  I  can't  get  used  to  this 
one.  Come  on  into  the  sittin'-room — library,  I 
mean.  The  furniture  ain't  so  everlastin'  straight  up 
and  down  there  and  there's  somethin'  to  smoke — 
or  there  ought  to  be,  if  Cousin  Percy  ain't  smoked 
it  first.  Come  on,  John." 

In  the  library,  with  lighted  cigars  and  in  com 
fortable  easy  chairs,  the  two  men  looked  at  each 
other. 

"Well,  John,"  began  the  captain,  "you — you 
come,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  should  have  come  as  soon  as 
I  got  your  letter,  but  I  couldn't  get  away.  I  was 
going  to  tell  you  that." 

"Yes,"  drily,  "I  know  you  was.  If  I  hadn't  cut 
across  your  bows,  you  would.  Whew!  if  you  had 
I  guess  likely  there'd  have  been  somethin'  doin'.  If 
Gertie  or  Serena  knew  I  wrote  you  that  letter  I'd 
stand  to  lose  what  hair  I've  got  left.  Didn't  I  write 
you  not  to  mention  that  letter  to  a  livin'  soul?" 

"You  did.  But  I  couldn't  understand  why.  What 
is  all  this  secrecy,  anyhow?  And  what  is  troubling 
you  about  Gertie?" 

"Well,  now,  I  don't  know  as  there's  anything." 

"Humph!  I  judged  there  was  a  little  of  every 
thing.  What  is  the  matter?  Out  with  it. 

"Well — we-ell — you  see — you  see " 

238 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  don't  see  anything,  Captain  Dott." 

"You  saw  how  she  was  set  on  goin'  to  that  Chap 
ter  meetin',  didn't  you?  You  saw  that?" 

"Yes,  but  what  of  it?" 

"What  of  it?  What  of  it?  Did  she  ever  use  to 
want  to  go  to  such  things  ?  Down  in  Trumet  did  she 
ever  want  to  go?  I  bet  she  didn't!  But  now  she 
does.  And  she's  goin'  to  join  the  thing — join  it, 
herself!  As  if  one  loon — I  mean  as  if  one  Chapter 
member  in  the  family  wasn't  enough.  I  thought 
when  Gertie  come  home  she'd  probably  keep  her 
ma  from  goin'  off  the  course  altogether.  I  thought, 
with  her  level  head,  she'd  swing  us  back  into  the 
channel  again.  But  she  didn't — she  didn't.  John, 
Gertie's  got  the  Chapter  disease  worse  than  her  ma 
ever  had  it,  I  do  believe.  You've  got  to  talk  to  her, 
John,  that's  what  you've  got  to  do — talk  to  her." 

John  laughed.  He  did  not  take  the  situation  very 
seriously.  If  Gertrude  wished  to  become  interested 
in  the  Chapter,  he  was  willing  she  should.  She  prob 
ably  had  a  good  reason  for  it.  Her  insisting  upon 
attending  a  meeting  on  the  very  evening  of  his  ar 
rival  was  odd — it  did  not  seem  like  her — but  she 
doubtless  had  a  good  reason  for  that,  too. 

"Why  don't  you  talk  to  her  yourself,  Captain?" 
he  asked. 

"Me!  Me  talk  to  her!  I  have,  and  what  good 
has  it  done?  She  won't  listen  to  me  any  more.  I 
don't  mean  she  ain't  kind  to  me  and  lovin'  and  all 
that — she  wouldn't  be  Gertie  if  she  wasn't  that — 
but  when  it  comes  to  Chapter  business  she's  all  on 
her  ma's  side." 

"Why  not  talk  to  her  mother,  then?" 
239 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Daniel  straightened  in  his  chair.  "To  Serena!" 
he  repeated.  "Talk  against  Chapter  to  Serena  1 
John,  you  don't  know  what  you're  sayin'.  One  time 
— just  one — I  did  talk  that  way.  I  biled  over  and 
I  damned  that  Chapter  and  the  gang  in  it,  cussed 
'em  in  good  plain  United  States.  But  I'll  never  do 
it  again.  Once  was  enough." 

He  was  so  very  serious  that  his  companion  fore- 
bore  to  laugh. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Why!  John,  you  ain't  married  or  you  wouldn't 
ask  that.  I'm  a  peaceable  body  and  I  like  peace  in 
the  house.  More'n  that,  I  hate  to  go  'round  feelin' 
like  a  sneak  thief.  That  one  damn  made  me  miser 
able  for  two  days.  I  never  swore  to  Serena  afore 
and  I  never  will  again.  She  was  all  cut  up  over  it 
and  in  a  way  she  was  right.  No,  swearin'  aboard 
ship  is  one  thing — I've  had  mates  that  couldn't  navi 
gate  without  it — but  ashore  in  your  own  house,  to 
the  women  folks  you  care  for,  it  don't  go.  I  can't 
talk  to  Serena  about  that  Chapter — not  even  if  I'm 
left  alone  all  the  time,  same  as  I'm  left  to-night." 

John  nodded.  He  thought  that,  at  last,  he  had 
reached  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut.  Captain  Dan, 
with  his  love  for  home  and  his  hatred  of  lodges  and 
societies,  had  refused  to  be  interested  in  his  wife's 
pet  hobby,  and  felt  himself  neglected  and  forsaken. 
He  had  brooded  upon  it,  and  this  outburst  and  the 
letter  he  had  written  were  the  consequences. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said.  "I  shouldn't  worry.  The 
Chapter  here  is  a  large  one  and  Mrs.  Dott  is  inter 
ested  in  it.  The  interest  will  wear  off  when  it  gets 
to  be  an  old  story." 

240 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Wear  off!  With  Gertie  goin'  it  harder  than 
her  mother  ever  thought  of?" 

"Oh,  Gertie  doesn't  mean  it." 

"She  don't!  She  don't!  Perhaps  you  don't  think 
she  means  it  when  she  goes  to  every  'tea'  and  're 
cital'  and  'at  home'  and  crazy  dido  from  here  to 
Beersheba  and  back.  Is  that  goin'  to  wear  off? 
Chasin'  around  with  Cousin  Percy  and  that  Holway 
and  land  knows  who?" 

"What?  Captain  Dott,  you're  making  mountains 
out  of  mole  hills.  Gertie  isn't  that  kind." 

"That's  what  I  said.  That's  what  I  used  to  think. 
It's  this  Scarford  that's  doin'  it.  It's  this  Scarford 
and  the  society  crowd  we've  got  in  with.  Annette 
Black — Barney  Phelps's  wife — is  in  society,  and  so's 
the  Lake  woman  and  that  Canby  piano  pounder  and 
that  Dusante — my  Godfreys !  you  ought  to  have  seen 
her,  John!  She  was  the  brazen  thing.  Dancin' 
around!  And  all  hands  sittin'  lookin'  at  her  as  if 
she  was  a  Sunday  School.  Everybody!  Serena  and 
Gertie  and  that  Holway  man  and  all.  And  Gertie 
up  and  says  she  might  like  to  dance  that  way.  She ! 
And  Cousin  Percy  laughin'  because  she  said  it." 

"Hold  on !  Wait  a  minute,  Captain.  I  never 
saw  you  so  excited.  What  about  this  Cousin  Percy 
of  yours?  He's  living  here  with  you,  I  know  that; 
but  what  sort  of  a  chap  is  he?  And  Holway — who 
is  Holway?" 

Daniel  went  on  to  explain  who  Holway  was.  Also 
he  spoke  of  Mr.  Hungerford  and  his  ways  and  his 
intimacy  with  the  family,  particularly  Gertrude. 
For  weeks  the  captain  had  been  wanting  to  talk  to 
someone  about  these  things  and,  now  that  he  had  that 

241 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

opportunity,  he  made  the  most  of  it.  He  spoke  of 
his  own  loneliness,  and  of  Serena's  infatuation  for 
society,  of  Gertrude's  coming  and  the  great  change 
in  her,  of  the  gay  life  in  Scarford,  and  of  his  daugh 
ter's  apparent  love  for  it.  He  gave  his  opinion  of 
Hungerford  and  of  Holway,  the  latter's  friend. 
When  John  asked  questions  which  implied  a  belief 
that  the  situation  was  not  really  as  bad  as  the  nar 
rator  thought  it,  Captain  Dan,  growing  warmer  and 
more  anxious  to  justify  himself,  proceeded  to  make 
his  statements  stronger.  He  quoted  instances  to 
prove  their  truth.  Serena  was  crazy  on  the  sub 
jects  of  Chapter  and  Chapter  politics  and  fashion 
and  money  and  society,  and  Gertrude  was  getting 
to  be  even  worse.  It  wasn't  any  use  to  talk  to  her. 
He  had  tried.  He  had  told  her  she  was  engaged 
and  ought  to  be  more  careful.  He  wasn't  the  only 
one  who  thought  so.  Barney  Black  had  said  the 
same  thing.  He  quoted  from  Mr.  Black's  conversa 
tion. 

John  Doane  listened,  at  first  with  the  smile  of  the 
disbeliever,  then  with  more  and  more  uneasiness. 
He  trusted  Gertrude,  he  believed  in  her,  she  was 
not  a  flirt,  but  if  these  stories  were  true — if  they 
were  true — he  could  not  understand.  He  asked 
more  questions  and  the  answers  were  as  non-under 
standable.  Altogether,  Captain  Dan,  with  the  best 
intentions  in  the  world,  and  with  the  happiness  of 
his  daughter  and  John  uppermost  in  his  mind,  suc 
ceeded  in  laying  a  mine  which  might  wreck  that  hap 
piness  altogether. 

At  last  something — perhaps  the  expression  on  his 
visitor's  face — caused  him  to  feel  that  he  might  have 

242 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

said  too  much.     He  hastened  to  rectify  the  mis 
take. 

"Of  course  you  mustn't  think  Gertie  ain't  all 
right,  far's  you're  concerned,  John,"  he  said.  "She 
is — I — I'm  dead  sure  she  is.  But,  you  see — you 
see You  do  see,  don't  you,  John?" 

Mr.  Doane  did  not  answer.  He  seemed  to  be 
thinking  hard. 

"You  see,  John,  don't  you?"  repeated  Captain 
Dan. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  do." 

"And  you  know  Gertie's  all  right — at  heart,  I 
mean?  You  mustn't  be  jealous,  nor  anything  of 
that  kind." 

John  laughed.  "Don't  talk  nonsense,"  he  said 
curtly. 

"No,  I  won't.  But — er — what  are  you  thinkin' 
about?" 

"Nothing.     Humph!      I   can't  understand " 

"Neither  could  I.  That's  why  I  wrote  you.  You 
see  why  I  wrote  you,  don't  you,  John?" 

"Yes — yes,  I  see  why  you  wrote  me;  but — but  I 
can't  see  why  she  didn't.  She  hasn't  written  me  a 
word  of  all  this." 

And  then  the  captain,  in  his  anxiety  to  explain, 
made  another  indiscreet  remark. 

"Well,"  he  observed,  "I  suppose  likely  she  was 
afraid  you  might  think  that,  now  she  had  money — 
more  money  than  she  ever  had  before,  I  mean — and 
was  in  a  different,  a  higher-toned  crowd  than  she  had 
ever  been,  that — that — well,  that  she  was  likin'  that 
crowd  better  than  the  old  one.  She  might  have 
thought  that,  you  know,  mightn't  she?" 

243 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Doane  did  not  answer.  Daniel  had  made  a 
pretty  thorough  mess  of  it. 

"Of  course,"  went  on  the  captain,  "as  far  as 
Cousin  Percy  is  concerned " 

John  stirred  uneasily.  "Cousin  Percy  be  hanged !" 
he  snapped.  "That's  enough  of  this  foolishness. 
Let's  change  the  subject.  How  is  Nate  Bangs  get 
ting  on  with  the  store  at  home?" 

The  Metropolitan  Store  at  Trumet  was  the  one 
thoroughly  satisfactory  spot  on  the  checkered  map 
of  Daniel  Dott's  existence  at  the  present  time. 
Nathaniel  Bangs  was  making  a  success  of  that  store. 
He  reported  each  week  and  the  reports  showed  in 
creasing  business  and  a  profit,  small  as  yet,  but  a 
profit  nevertheless. 

So  the  captain  was  only  too  glad  to  speak  of  the 
store  and  did  so.  John  appeared  to  listen,  but  his 
answers  and  comments  were  absent-minded.  He 
accepted  a  fresh  cigar,  at  his  host's  invitation,  but 
he  permitted  it  to  go  out. 

At  half-past  ten  the  doorbell  rang.  Daniel  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"Here  they  are  1"  he  declared.  "Gertie  come  home 
early,  just  as  she  said  she  would.  That's  'cause  she 
wanted  to  see  you,  John.  Hi !"  shouting  at  Mr. 
Hapgood,  who  had  long  since  given  up  the  search 
for  the  missing  pocketbook  and  had  been  dozing  up 
stairs,  "Hi !  you  needn't  mind.  Go  aloft  again  1  Go 
below !  Go  somewhere  !  We  don't  need  you.  I'll 
let  'em  in,  myself." 

The  butler,  looking  surprised,  obeyed  orders  and 
went — somewhere.  The  captain  flung  open  the 
door. 

244 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

"Well!"  he  hailed.  "Here  you  are!  And  pretty 
early  for  Chapter  night,  too.  We're  waitin'  for  you, 
John  and  I.  Shall  I  pay  the  cab  man?" 

Serena,  the  first  to  enter,  answered. 

"No,"  she  said,  "he  is  already  paid." 

"That  so?     Did  you  pay  him,  Serena?    Thought 

that  was  my  job  usually.     I "     Then,  in  a  tone 

so  entirely  different  that  John  Doane,  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  noticed  the  change,  he  added,  "Oh!  oh! 
I  see." 

"Come  in,"  went  on  Serena.  "Come  right  in, 
Cousin  Percy." 

She  entered  the  drawing-room,  followed  by  Ger 
trude  and — Mr.  Percy  Hungerford.  Captain  Dan, 
remaining  to  close  the  door,  came  last. 

"John,"  said  Serena  proudly,  "we  want  you  to 
meet  our  cousin,  Mr.  Hungerford.  Percy,  this  is 
John." 

John  and  Hungerford  exchanged  looks.  The  lat 
ter  gentleman  extended  a  gloved  hand. 

"Charmed,"  he  observed. 

John  expressed  pleasure  at  the  meeting.  The 
pair  shook  hands. 

"So — so  Cousin  Percy  came  home  with  you,  did 
he?"  inquired  Daniel.  "That  was  kind  of  unex 
pected,  wasn't  it?" 

Mr.  Hungerford  himself  answered. 

"Why,"  he  declared,  "not  altogether,  on  my  part, 
I  hoped  for  the  pleasure.  It  seemed  rather  rough 
for  Miss  Dott  and  her  mother  to  come  alone,  and 
so  I  hung  about  until  the  affair  was  over." 

"He  had  a  carriage  all  ready  for  us,"  declared 
Serena.  "It  was  so  thoughtful  of  him." 

245 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

'Not  at  all.     Great  pleasure,  really." 

Gertrude  made  the  next  remark. 

"We  did  not  need  a  carriage,"  she  said.  "Or,  if 
we  did,  we  could  easily  have  gotten  one.  Cousin 
Percy  need  not  have  troubled." 

"John  offered  to  come  for  you,"  said  Daniel.  "So 
did  I.  We'd  have  both  come,  but  you  wouldn't  have 
us.  Wouldn't  accept  our  invitation,  would  they, 
John?  Gave  us  to  understand  they  didn't  like  our 
company." 

"Cousin  Percy  did  not  wait  for  an  invitation,"  ex 
plained  Serena.  "He  just  came.  He  is  so  thought 
ful." 

Gertrude  looked  annoyed.  She  had  been  regard 
ing  Mr.  Doane. 

"Mother,"  she  said  sharply,  "don't  be  silly.  We 
did  not  ask  for  an  escort  and  we  didn't  need  one. 
The  whole  thing  was  quite  unnecessary  and  unex 
pected.  Come,  Mother,  do  take  off  your  things. 
Oh,  I'm  so  ~lad  to  get  home." 

The  ladies  retired  to  remove  their  wraps.  John 
made  a  move  to  go  to  their  assistance,  but  Mr.  Hun- 
gerford,  attentive  as  usual,  got  ahead  of  him. 

"Well,  Daddy  dear,"  said  Gertrude,  as  they  re- 
entered,  "what  have  you  and  John  been  doing  while 
we  were  away?  I  suppose  you've  had  a  long 
talk?" 

Daniel  colored.  He  looked  at  Mr.  Doane,  who, 
in  spite  of  himself,  colored  also,  and  was  tremen 
dously  annoyed  because  he  did  so. 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain  hastily.  "Yes,  we  talked. 
We  talked,  didn't  we,  John?" 

"We  did,"  affirmed  John. 
246 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

"I'm  sure  you  did.     And  what  about?" 

"Oh — oh,  about  everything.  How  did  the  Chap 
ter  doin's  go  off?  You're  a  member  now,  I  sup 
pose,  Gertie?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  reply,  "I  am  a  member." 

"Um-hm !  Well,  I  hope  you're  satisfied — I  mean 
I  hope  you'll  like  it.  Didn't  make  a  speech,  did 
you?  Ha!  ha!" 

Gertrude  did  not  answer.  Serena,  to  her  hus 
band's  surprise,  appeared  vexed. 

"But  she  did  though,  by  Jove!"  exclaimed  Cousin 
Percy.  "She  did,  and  I'm  told  it  created  a  great 
sensation.  Miss  Canby  told  me  about  it  as  I  was 
waiting  for  you  to  come  out,  Gertrude.  She  said 
you  gave  them  a  brand-new  idea.  Congratulations, 
Gertrude.  Wish  I  might  have  heard  it.  Something 
about  the  privileges  of  the  Chapter  being  extended 
to  the  hoi  polloi,  wasn't  it?" 

The  new  member  of  Scarford  Chapter  looked 
more  annoyed  than  ever. 

"I  spoke  of  the  Chapter's  advantages  being  ex 
tended,"  she  said,  "that's  all." 

"And  enough,  too,"  cried  her  mother,  impatiently. 
"Quite  enough,  I  should  think.  If  I  had  known 
you  were  going  to  do  that,  I  should  have  stayed  at 
home.  It  was  that  foolish  Azuba  who  put  the  no 
tion  in  your  head.  You'll  be  proposing  her  name 
next,  I  suppose.  The  idea!" 

Daniel  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  John?"  he  cried. 
"Zuby  Jane  makin'  speeches !  There's  advancement 
for  you,  ain't  it?" 

John  smiled,  but  rather  faintly.  He  had  scarcely 
247 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

taken  his  eyes  from  Cousin  Percy's  aristocratic  pres* 
ence.    The  latter  gentleman  turned  to  him. 

"Well — er — Mr. — Mr.  Doane,"  he  observed 
carelessly,  "how  do  you  like  Scarford,  as  far  as 
you've  seen  it?" 

John  replied  that  he  had  seen  very  little  of  it. 

"You  will  find  it  a  bit  different  from — er — what 
is  it?  Oh,  yes,  Trumet.  You'll  find  it  a  bit  different 
from  Trumet,  I  imagine." 

"No  doubt.     I  can  see  that  already." 

"But  John  doesn't  come  from  Trumet,"  explained 
Serena;  "that  is,  not  now.  He  is  in  business  in  Bos 
ton." 

Cousin  Percy  seemed  surprised.  He  favored  the 
visitor  with  another  look.  "Indeed!"  he  drawled. 
He  did  not  add  "He  doesn't  look  it,"  in  words,  but 
his  manner  expressed  just  that. 

Daniel  caught  his  wife's  eye.  "Well,  Serena,"  he 
observed,  with  a  meaning  wink,  "I  guess  likely  you're 
tired,  ain't  you?  Time  to  go  aloft  and  turn  in,  I 
should  say." 

Serena  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  answered.  "Ger 
trude,  you  and  John  will  excuse  us,  won't  you?  John, 
Captain  Dott  and  I  will  see  you  in  the  morning. 
Good-night!  Good-night,  Cousin  Percy." 

"Good-night!"  said  Mr.  Hungerford. 

"You'll  excuse  us,  John,  I'm  sure,"  went  on 
Serena.  "Of  course  you  and  Gertie  will  want  to 
talk,  and,"  with  a  slight  pause  and  a  glance  at 
Percy,  "we  will  only  be  in  the  way.  Come, 
Daniel." 

Captain  Dan  paused  in  the  doorway.  "Ain't  you 
tired,  too,  Cousin  Percy?"  he  inquired. 

248 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

It  was  a  fairly  broad  hint,  but  Mr.  Hungerford 
did  not  take  it. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  replied;  "not  at  all.  Good-night, 
Captain." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  sofa.  Daniel,  frowning, 
followed  his  wife  upstairs. 

The  conversation  which  ensued  was  confined  al 
most  altogether  to  Hungerford  and  Gertrude.  John 
Doane  had  little  to  say,  and  less  opportunity  to  say 
it.  Each  remark  made  by  the  young  lady  was  an 
swered  by  Percy,  and  that  gentleman  talked  almost 
incessantly.  His  remarks  also  were  of  a  semi-con 
fidential  nature,  dealing  with  happenings  at  various 
social  affairs  which  Gertrude  and  he  had  attended, 
and  hints  at  previous  conversations  and  understand 
ings  between  them.  John  began  to  feel  himself  an 
outsider.  After  a  time  he  ceased  trying  to  talk  and 
relapsed  into  silence. 

Gertrude  noticed  the  silence  and,  seizing  a  mo 
ment  when  her  entertaining  cousin  had  paused,  per 
haps  for  breath,  said,  almost  sharply: 

"John,  why  don't  you  say  something?  You 
haven't  spoken  for  five  minutes." 

John  said  very  little,  even  in  reply  to  this  accusa 
tion. 

"Haven't  I?"  he  observed.  "Well,  what  shall  I 
say?" 

"You  might  say  something,  considering  that  you 
and  I  haven't  seen  each  other  for  so  long." 

Mr.  Hungerford  rose.  "I  hope  I  haven't  inter 
fered,"  he  announced.  "Didn't  mean  to  intrude,  I 
assure  you.  Beg  pardon — er — Doane." 

John  did  not  answer.     Gertrude  also  rose. 

249 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Good-night,  Cousin  Percy,"  she  said,  with  a  gra 
cious  smile.  "Thank  you  so  much  for  the  carriage 
and  your  escort." 

"Quite  welcome.  Pleasure  was  mine.  Good 
night,  Gertrude.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  believe  you  and 
I  are  to  go  over  that  paper  of  your  mother's  to 
morrow.  She  asked  my  advice  and  said  you  would 
assist,  I  think.  I  shall  look  forward  to  that  assist 
ance.  Good-night,  Doane.  Glad  to  have  met  you, 
I'm  sure." 

He  strolled  out.  Upon  reaching  his  room  he 
discovered  that  his  cigar  case  was  empty.  Hapgood 
not  being  on  hand  and,  feeling  the  need  of  a  bed 
time  smoke,  he  tiptoed  down  the  stairs  and  through 
the  back  hall  into  the  library.  The  room  was  dark, 
but  sufficient  light  shone  between  the  closed  curtains 
of  the  drawing-room  to  enable  him  to  locate  Captain 
Dan's  box.  Silently  and  very  slowly  he  refilled  the 
case. 

John  Doane  and  Gertrude,  alone  at  last,  looked 
at  each  other.  The  former  was  very  solemn.  Ger 
trude,  quite  aware  of  the  solemnity,  but  not  aware 
of  its  principal  cause — her  father's  impolitic  dis^ 
closure  of  his  apprehensions  concerning  herself — waa 
nervous  and  a  bit  impatient. 

"Well,  John,"  she  asked,  after  a  moment's  wait, 
"aren't  you  going  to  say  anything  to  me  even  now?" 

John  tried  his  best  to  smile.  It  was  a  poor  at 
tempt. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  came  all  the  way 
from  Boston  to  see  you  and  talk  to  you,  Gertie. 
There  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  say — whatever 
there  is  to  say,  I  suppose." 

250 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Gertrude  looked  at  him.  The  tone  in  which  this 
speech  was  delivered,  and  the  speech  itself — the  first 
part  of  it,  especially — amazed  and  hurt  her.  Inci 
dentally,  her  temper  having  been  sorely  tried  al 
ready  that  evening  by  Mr.  Hungerford,  it  made  her 
angry. 

"All  the  way  from  Boston,"  she  repeated.  "Well 
T  never  knew  you  to  complain  in  that  way  before, 
j?'m  sorry  to  have  caused  you  so  much  trouble." 

"It  wasn't  a  trouble,  Gertie.  You  know  I  would 
go  around  the  world  for  you." 

"Then  why  speak  of  coming  all  the  way  from 
Boston?  Whose  fault  was  it,  pray?  Did  I  ask 
you  to  come?" 

And  now,  John,  who  had  been  fighting  his  own 
temper  for  some  time,  grew  angry. 

"You  did  not,"  he  declared.  "But  I  judge  it  was 
time  I  did." 

"Indeed!     Indeed!     Why?" 

"Well — well,  for  various  reasons.  Of  course,  had 
I  known  my  coming  would  interfere  with  your — your 
precious  Chapter  affairs  and " 

"John,  I  had  to  go  to  that  meeting.  If  you  had 
written  you  were  coming  I  shouldn't  have  gone.  I 
should  have  made  other  arrangements.  But  you 
didn't  write." 

"I  wrote  every  day." 

"Yes,  but  you  did  not  write  you  were  coming 
here." 

"I  didn't  think  it  was  necessary.  You  wrote  every 
day,  too,  but  you  didn't  write — you  didn't 
write " 

"What?" 


CAFN    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"A  good  many  things  that — that  I  have  learned 
since  I  came  here." 

"Indeed!  What  things?  How  did  you  learn 
them?" 

"I "  John  hesitated.  To  bring  Captain 

Dan's  name  into  the  conversation  would  be,  he  felt, 
disloyal.  And  it  would  surely  mean  trouble  for  the 
captain.  "I — I  learned  them  with  my  own  eyes," 
he  declared.  "I  could  see.  Gertie,  I  can't  under 
stand  you." 

"And  I  don't  understand  you.  I  told  you,  at  the 
only  moment  we  have  had  together,  I  told  you  then 
that  I  would  explain  about  the  Chapter.  I  said  that 
I  must  go  or  everything  would  be  spoiled.  You  very 
nearly  spoiled  it  by  coming  as  you  did." 

Mr.  Doane's  expression  changed  It  had  softened 
when  she  reminded  him  of  the  whispered  word  in 
the  drawing-room.  The  last  sentence,  however, 
brought  his  frown  back  again. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well— humph!  that's 
easily  remedied.  I  came  in  a  hurry  and  I  can  go 
the  same  way." 

"John!  John,  what  do  you  mean?  How  can 
you  speak  so  to  me !  Would  you  go  away  now  that 
__that " 

"You  wouldn't  miss  me  so  much,  I  should  imagine. 
Cousin  Percy  will  be  here,  and  you  and  he  seem  to 
be  very  confidential  and  friendly,  to  say  the  least." 

Gertrude  gasped.  She  was  beginning  to  under 
stand,  or  imagined  that  she  was.  She  laughed  mer 
rily. 

"John!  Why,  John!"  she  cried.  "You're  not 
jealous  I  You!" 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

John  looked  rather  foolish.  "No-o,"  he  admitted 
doubtfully,  "I'm  not  jealous.  Of  course  I'm  not, 
but " 

"But  what?  Don't  you  trust  me,  John?  Don't 
you?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  You  know  I  do,  but See 

here,  Gertie,  you  said  you  were  going  to  explain — 
to  explain  something  or  other.  Do  it,  then.  I  think 
I  am  entitled  to  an  explanation." 

But  Gertrude's  merriment  had  vanished.  Her 
eyes  flashed. 

"I  shall  not  explain,"  she  said.  "You  don't  trust 
me.  I  can  see  you  don't." 

"I  do.     I  do,  Gertie,  really;  but — but " 

"But  you  don't.  You  think — you  think — oh,  I 
don't  know  what  you  think !  No,  I  shall  not  explain, 
not  now,  at  all  events.  Good-night!" 

She  hastened  from  the  room.    John  ran  after  her. 

"Gertie,"  he  cried,  "you're  not  going?  You're 
not  going  to  leave  me  in  this  way,  without  a  word? 
J  do  trust  you.  I  only  said " 

"It  wasn't  what  you  said;  it  was  the  way  you  said 
it.  I  am  going.  I  am  shocked — yes,  and  hurt,  John. 
I  shall  not  speak  to  you  again  to-night.  To-morrow 
perhaps,  if  you  beg  my  pardon  and  I  am  really  sure 
you  do  trust  me,  I  may  tell  you — what  I  was  going 
to  tell.  But  not  now.  I — I  didn't  think  you  would 
treat  me  so." 

She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  hurried 
up  the  stairs.  John,  standing  irresolute  on  the  lower 
step,  hesitated,  fighting  down  his  own  pride  and 
sense  of  injury.  That  moment  of  hesitation  was 
freighted  with  consequence.  Then: 

253 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Gertie,"  he  cried,  hastening  after  her,  "Gertie, 
wait  I  I  do  beg  your  pardon.  I'm  sorry.  I  didn't 
mean " 

But  it  was  too  late.  Gertie's  chamber  door  closed. 
John  went  slowly  up  to  his  own  room,  the  room  to 
which  the  butler  had  carried  his  bag.  A  few  min 
utes  after  he  had  gone  the  curtains  between  the  li 
brary  and  drawing-room  parted  and  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford  appeared.  He  was  very  cautious  as  he,  too, 
ascended  the  stairs.  But  his  expression  was  a  pleas 
ant  one ;  there  was  no  doubt  that  Cousin  Percy  was 
pleased  about  something. 


CHAPTER   XI 

CAPTAIN  DAN  stirred  uneasily.  In  his 
dream  he  had  navigated  the  Bluebird,  his 
old  schooner,  to  a  point  somewhere  be 
tween  Hatteras  and  Race  Point  light.  It  was  night 
all  at  once,  although  it  had  been  day  only  a  few 
minutes  before,  and  Azuba,  who,  it  seemed,  was 
cook  aboard  the  Bluebird,  was  washing  breakfast 
dishes  in  the  skipper's  stateroom.  She  was  making 
a  good  deal  of  noise  about  it,  jingling  pans  and 
thumping  the  foot  of  the  berth  with  a  stick  of  stove 
wood.  The  captain  was  about  to  remonstrate  with 
her  when  Serena  suddenly  appeared — her  presence 
on  the  schooner  was  a  complete  surprise — to  ask  him 
if  he  had  not  heard  the  bell,  and  why  didn't  he  come 
into  the  house,  because  dinner  was  ready.  Then 
Azuba  stopped  pounding  the  foot  of  the  berth  and 
began  to  thump  him  instead. 

"Don't  you  hear  the  bell?"  repeated  Serena. 
"Wake  up !  Daniel !  Daniel !" 

Daniel  stirred  and  opened  his  eyes.  The  Blue- 
bird  had  vanished,  so  had  Azuba,  but  the  thumps 
and  jingles  were  real  enough. 

"Hey?"  he  mumbled,  drowsily.  "Stop  poundin' 
me,  won't  you?" 

"Pounding  you !  I've  been  pounding  and  shaking 
you  for  goodness  knows  how  long.  I  began  to  think 

255 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

you  were  dead.     Wake  up!     Don't  you  hear  the 
bell?" 

Daniel,  still  but  two-thirds  awake,  rolled  over, 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  grunted,  "Bell! 
What  bell?" 

"The  door  bell.  Someone's  at  the  door.  Don't 
you  hear  them?" 

Captain  Dan  slid  out  of  bed.  His  bare  feet  struck 
the  cold  floor  beneath  the  open  window  and  he  was 
wide  awake  at  last.  The  room  was  pitch  dark,  so 
morning  had  not  come,  and  yet  someone  was  at  the 
door,  the  front  door.  The  bell  was  ringing  steadily 
and  the  ringer  was  varying  the  performance  by  bang 
ing  the  door  with  his  feet.  The  captain  fumbled  for 
the  button,  found  and  pressed  it,  and  the  electric 
light  blazed. 

"For  mercy  sakes!"  he  grumbled,  glancing  at  his 
watch  hanging  beside  the  head  of  the  bed,  "it's 
quarter  past  one.  Who  in  time  is  turnin'  us  out  this 
time  of  night?" 

Serena,  nervous  and  frightened — she,  too,  had 
been  aroused  from  a  sound  sleep — answered  sharply. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  snapped.  "It's  something 
important  though,  or  they  wouldn't  do  it.  Hurry 
up  and  find  out,  can't  you?  I  never  saw  such  a 
man!" 

Her  husband  hastened  to  the  closet,  found  his 
slippers  and  bathrobe — the  latter  was  a  recent  ad 
dition  to  his  wardrobe,  bought  because  his  wife  had 
learned  that  B.  Phelps  Black  possessed  no  less  than 
three  bathrobes — and  shuffled  out  into  the  hall.  The 
bell  had  awakened  other  members  of  the  household. 
A  light  shone  under  the  door  of  John  Doane's  room, 

256 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

and  from  Gertrude's  apartment  his  daughter's  voice 
demanded  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

Daniel  announced  that  he  didn't  know,  but 
cal'lated  to  find  out,  and  shuffled  down  the  stairs. 
The  lights  in  the  hall  and  drawing-room  were  still 
burning,  Gertrude  and  John  having  forgotten  to  ex 
tinguish  them.  Captain  Dan  unlocked  the  front  door 
and  flung  it  open.  A  uniformed  messenger  boy  was 
standing  on  the  steps. 

"Telegram  for  John  Doane,"  announced  the  boy. 
"Any  answer?" 

Daniel  seized  the  proffered  envelope.  "How  in 
time  do  I  know  whether  there's  any  answer  or  not?" 
he  demanded  pettishly.  "I  ain't  read  it  yet,  have  I? 
Think  I've  got  second  sight?  Why  in  the  nation 
didn't  you  ring  up  on  the  telephone,  instead  of  comin* 
here  and  routin'  out  the  neighborhood?" 

The  boy  grinned.  "Against  the  rules,"  he  said. 
"Can't  send  telegrams  by  'phone  unless  we  have 
special  orders." 

"Well,  I  give  you  orders  then.  Next  time  you 
telephone.  Hold  on  a  minute  now.  John!  ohr 
John!" 

Mr.  Doane,  partially  dressed,  his  coat  collar 
turned  up  to  hide  the  absence  of  linen,  was  already 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  descending. 

"Coming,  Captain  Dott,"  he  said.  "For  me,  is 
it?" 

"Yes.  A  telegram  for  you.  What — good  land, 
Gertie!  you  up,  too?" 

Gertrude,  in  kimono  and  cap,  was  leaning  over 
the  rail.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked  quickly. 

John  announced,  "A  wire  for  me,"  he  said.  "I'm 
257 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

afraid "  He  tore  open  the  envelope.  "Yes,  I 

thought  so.  Mr.  Griffin  is  worse  and  they  want  me 
at  once.  Every  minute  counts,  they  say.  I  must 
go — now.  When  is  the  next  train  for  Boston,  Cap 
tain?" 

Daniel  was  very  much  flustered.  "I  don't  know," 
he  stammered.  "There's  a  time-table  around  on 
deck  somewheres,  but — you  ain't  goin'  now,  John? 
To-night?" 

"Yes,  I  must." 

Gertrude  hastened  to  find  the  time-table.  John 
turned  to  the  messenger. 

"Know  anything  about  Boston  trains?"  he  asked. 

"Yup.  Two-twenty  express  through  from  New 
York.  That's  the  next." 

John  stepped  to  the  drawing-room  and  looked  at 
the  clock.  "I  can  get  it,  I  think,"  he  announced. 
"I  must.  If  I  can  get  a  cab " 

"I'll  'phone  for  one.  But — but,  John,  you  hadn't 
ought  to " 

"Any  answer?"  demanded  the  messenger  boy,  in 
tent  on  business. 

"Yes.  Say  that  I  am  leaving  on  the  two-twenty. 
On  the  two-twenty.  Got  that,  have  you  ?" 

"Sure,  Mike!    Prepay  or  collect?" 

"I'll — I'll  pay  it,  John."  Captain  Dan  reached 
under  his  bathrobe.  "Hey!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  de 
clare  I  forgot  I  didn't  have  on All  right,  John, 

I'll  pay  it.  You  go  get  ready." 

Mr.  Doane  was  on  his  way  to  his  room.  Daniel 
hurried  after  him,  a  difficult  progress,  for  the  slip 
pers  and  bathrobe  made  hurrying  decidedly  clumsy. 
He  located  his  trousers  and  the  loose  change  in  their 

258 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

pockets,  explaining  the  situation  to  Serena  as  he  did 
so.  He  and  his  wife  descended  the  stairs  together. 
The  captain  paid  the  messenger  and  hastened  to 
telephone  for  the  cab. 

When  the  vehicle  arrived,  John  was  ready.  His 
farewells  to  Daniel  and  Serena  were  hurried  ones. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  I  can't  stop  longer,"  he  de 
clared.  "I  really  shouldn't  have  come  at  all,  under 
the  circumstances.  I " 

He  paused.  Gertrude  was  standing  by  the  door. 
She  was  very  grave  and  her  eyes  looked  as  if  she 
had  not  slept.  John  went  over  to  her;  he,  too,  was 
grave. 

"Gertie,"  he  faltered,  "Gertie " 

Serena  interrupted.  "Daniel!"  she  said,  "Dan 
iel!" 

The  captain  looked  at  her.  She  frowned  and 
motioned  with  her  head.  The  light  of  understanding 
dawned  in  her  husband's  eyes. 

"Hey?  Oh,  yes!"  he  cried  hastily.  "Come  into 
the  front  room,  Serena,  just  a  minute.  I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

They  entered  the  drawing-room  together.  Ger 
trude  and  John  were  alone.  For  a  moment  neither 
spoke.  Then  the  young  man,  bending  forward, 
whispered:  "Gertie,"  he  asked  anxiously,  "aren't 
you — haven't  you  anything  to  say  to  me?" 

"I  thought,  perhaps,  you  had  something  to  say 
to  me,  John." 

"I  have.     Gertie,  I " 

There  was  a  sound  from  above.  Cousin  Percy 
Hungerford,  fully  dressed  and  debonnair  as  alwaysv 
was  descending  the  stairs.  ( 

259 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"What's  the  row?"  he  drawled.  "I  heard  the 
racket  and  decided  the  house  must  be  on  fire.  What's 
up?" 

Whatever  else  was  "up"  it  was  quite  plain  John 
was  sorry  that  Mr.  Hungerford  was  up  because  of 
it.  His  tone  was  decidedly  chilly  as  he  answered. 

"A  wire  for  me,"  he  said  shortly.  "I'm  called  t'j 
Boston  at  once." 

"Really!  How  extraordinary!  It  wasn't  a  fire 
then,  merely  a  false  alarm.  Sorry  to  have  you  go, 
Doane,  I'm  sure." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  were  the  host  whose  gracious 
pleasure  it  had  been  to  entertain  the  guest  during  the 
latter's  stay.  John  resented  the  tone. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  crisply.  "Gertie,  I — I 
hope " 

He  hesitated.  It  was  not  easy  to  speak  in  the 
presence  of  a  third  person,  particularly  this  person. 
Cousin  Percy  did  not  hesitate. 

"Gertie,"  he  observed,  "your — er — friend  is  leav 
ing  us  at  the  wrong  time,  isn't  he?  There's  so  much 
going  on  this  coming  week.  Really,  Doane,  you're 
fortunate,  in  a  sense.  Miss  Dott  and  I  are  finding 
the  social  whirl  a  bit  tiresome;  you  will  escape  that, 
at  least." 

Captain  Dan  appeared  at  the  entrance  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"I  say,  Hungerford!  Percy!"  he  hailed  impa 
tiently. 

Mr.  Hungerford  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  He 
was  regarding  Miss  Dott  with  anxious  concern. 

"Really,  Gertrude,"  he  said,  "I  shouldn't  stand 
by  that  o^fen  door,  if  I  were  you.  You  have  a  slight 

260 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

cold  and  for — all  our  sakes — you  must  be  careful. 
Step  inside,  I  beg  of  you." 

His  begging  was  so  tender,  so  solicitous,  so  in 
timate.  John  Doane's  fists  clenched. 

"Hi  I"  It  was  the  cabman  calling  from  the  street. 
"Hi!  we've  only  got  twelve  minutes  to  catch  that 
train." 

John  turned,  involuntarily,  toward  the  door.  Ger 
trude,  startled  by  the  cabman's  voice  and  aware  of 
the  need  of  haste,  stepped  to  one  side.  Cousin  Percy 
chose  to  put  his  own  interpretation  upon  her  move 
ment. 

"Thank  you,  Gertrude,"  he  said  feelingly. 
"That's  better;  you  will  be  out  of  the  draft  there. 
Thank  you." 

John  Doane,  who  was  still  hesitating,  hesitated 
no  longer.  He  seized  his  bag. 

"Good-by,  all,"  he  said,  in  a  choked  voice. 
"Good-by,  Captain  Dott." 

He  strode  through  the  doorway.  Gertrude,  for 
a  moment,  remained  where  she  was.  Then  she  fol 
lowed  him. 

"John!"  she  cried,  "John!" 

John,  half  way  down  the  steps,  halted,  turned, 
and  looked  up  at  her. 

"Good-by,  Gertie,"  he  said. 

"But,  John,  are  you — aren't  you " 

She  stretched  out  her  hands.  Mr.  Hungerford, 
pushing  by  the  captain  and  Serena,  stepped  in  front 
of  her. 

"Here,  you!"  he  shouted,  addressing  the  cabman; 
"what  are  you  thinking  about?  Why  don't  you 
take  the  gentleman's  bag?"  _ 

261 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  driver  sprang  to  get  the  bag,  incidentally  he 
seized  his  prospective  passenger  by  the  arm. 

"Come  on!"  he  shouted.  "Come  on!  We'll  miss 
the  train.  Ten  to  one  we've  missed  it,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  do  hurry,  John!"  cried  Serena,  anxiously. 
"You  will  miss  it.  You  must  go  1" 

And  Mr.  Doane  went.  The  cab  rattled  away  up 
the  street,  the  old  horse  galloping,  the  driver  shout 
ing,  and  the  whip  cracking.  Daniel  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"Well !"  he  said  slowly,  "he's  gone.  Yes,  sir,  he's 
gone,  ain't  he." 

Serena  turned  on  him. 

"Yes,  he's  gone,"  she  observed  sarcastically,  "but 
he  isn't  going  very  fast.  Why  in  the  world  didn't 
you  order  an  electric  cab  instead  of  that  Noah's 
Ark?  Half  the  neighbors  have  been  waked  up 
and  they'll  see  it.  How  many  times  must  I  tell  you  ? 
You  never  learn !" 

"Well,  now,  Serena " 

"Don't  talk  to  me  I  Don't  I  My  nerves  are  all  of 
a  twitter.  I — I — oh,  do  let  me  go  to  bed!  Gertie 
• — why,  Gertie,  where  are  you  going?" 

Gertrude  was  on  her  way  to  the  stairs.  She  did 
not  appear  to  hear  her  mother's  question. 

"Gertie!"  cried  Serena  again. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  young  lady  hurried 
up  the  stairc  and  they  heard  her  chamber  door  close. 
Cousin  Percy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Too  bad  our  friend  was  called  away  so  sud 
denly,  he  observed.  "Very  much  of  a  surprise, 
wasn't  it?  Too  bad." 

No  one  replied,  vot  even  Serena,  who  was  not 
202 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

wont  to  ignore  the  comments  of  her  aristocratic  rela 
tive.  Her  next  remark  was  in  the  nature  of  an 
order  and  was  addressed  to  her  husband. 

"Come!  Come!  Come!"  she  said  fretfully.  "Do 
come  to  bed!" 

Daniel,  pausing  only  to  extinguish  the  lights, 
obeyed.  Mr.  Hungerford,  with  another  shrug  and 
a  covert  smile,  preceded  him  up  the  stairs.  As  the 
captain  was  about  to  enter  his  bedroom,  a  voice, 
which  sounded  as  if  the  speaker  was  half  asleep, 
called  from  the  third  floor. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  sir?"  asked  Hap- 
good.  "I  'ave  just  been  aroused,  sir." 

Daniel  turned.  Here  was  a  heaven-sent  vent  for 
his  feelings. 

"Do !"  he  repeated.  "Anything  you  can  do  ?  Yes, 
there  is.  Shut  your  door  and  turn  in." 

"But,  sir " 

"And  shut  your  head  along  with  it!" 

There  were  some  inmates  of  the  Dott  mansion 
who,  probably,  slept  peacefully  the  remainder  of 
that  night,  or  morning.  Cousin  Percy  doubtless  did, 
also  Mr.  Hapgood.  Azuba,  sleeping  at  the  reaf 
of  the  house,  had  not  been  awakened  at  all.  But 
neither  Captain  Dan  or  Serena  slept.  Mrs.  Dott's 
nerves  kept  her  awake,  and  the  combination  pre 
vented  Daniel  from  napping.  Nerves  were  a  new  ac* 
quisition  of  Serena's;  at  least  she  had  never  been 
conscious  of  them  until  recently.  Now,  however, 
they  were  becoming  more  and  more  in  evidence. 
She  was  fretful  and  impatient  of  trifles,  and  the  least 
contradiction  or  upset  of  her  plans  was  likely  to 
bring  on  fits  of  hysterical  weeping.  It  was  so  in  this 

263 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

case.  Daniel,  trotting  for  smelling  salts  and  extra 
pillows  and  the  hot  water  bottle,  was  not  too  calm 
himself.  His  plans,  the  plans  founded  upon  John 
Doane's  remaining  in  Scarford  for  a  time,  had  been 
decidedly  upset.  He  pleaded  with  his  wife. 

"But  I  don't  see  what  ails  you,  Serena,"  he  de 
clared.  "John's  gone,  that's  true  enough,  but  you 
didn't  know  he  was  comin'.  He  was  here  a  little 
while,  and  that's  some  gain,  ain't  it?  I  don't 
see " 

"See!  You  wouldn't  see  if  your  eyes  were  spy 
glasses.  Oh,  dear !  why  does  everything  have  to  go 
wrong  with  me?  I  thought  when  John  came  that 
Gertie " 

"Yes.    That  Gertie  what?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing!  Oh,  my  poor  head!  It 
aches  so  and  the  back  of  it  feels  so  queer.  Where 
are  the  pillows?  Can't  you  get  me  another 
pillow?" 

"Sure  I  can!  You've  got  three  already,  but  I 
can  fetch  another.  It's  all  this  society  business  that's 
breakin'  you  down,  Serena.  That  everlastin'  Chap 
ter " 

He  was  sorry  as  soon  as  he  said  it,  but  said  it  had 
been.  He  spent  the  next  hour  in  explaining  that  he 
did  not  mean  it. 

Serena  was  not  on  hand  at  breakfast  time. 
Neither  was  Gertrude.  That  young  lady  came  into 
the  library  at  ten  o'clock,  looking  pale  and  worn 
and  with  dark  circles  under  her  eyes.  She  had  a 
thick  envelope  in  her  hand. 

"Daddy,"  she  said,  "will  you  post  this  for  me?" 

Her  father  looked  up  from  the  pile  of  papers 
264 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

on  the  writing  table  before  him.  He,  too,  appeared 
somewhat  worried. 

"Sartin,"  he  announced  promptly.  "I've  got  a 
stack  of  stuff  for  the  postman,  myself.  Bills  and 
checks  they  are,  mostly.  Serena  usually  attends  to 
the  house  bills,  but  she's  kind  of  under  the  weather 
this  morning.  Say,  Gertie,"  gravely,  "it  costs  a  sight 
to  run  this  place,  did  you  know  it?" 

"I  suppose  it  does." 

"You  bet  it  does!     Why,  I  never  realized 

But  there,  I  suppose  likely  these  bills  are  heavier 
than  usual.  I  suppose  they  are.  Good  land !  if  they 
ain't!  But,  of  course  they  are.  I'll  ask  Serena 
about  'em  by  and  by,  when  she's  better.  Give  me 
your  letter,  Gertie,  I'll  mail  it." 

"You  won't  forget?" 

"Not  a  mite.  I'll  put  it  right  here  with  the  others 
and  give  'em  to  the  postman  when  he  comes. 
Humph !  it's  to  John,  isn't  it?  You're  pretty  prompt 
in  your  writin',  ain't  you?  But  that's  natural;  I  re 
member  when  I  used  to  write  your  mother  twice  a 
day.  It's  a  wonder  she  stood  it  and  kept  her  health, 
ain't  it.  Ha!  ha!" 

He  chuckled  and  turned  back  to  his  bills  and  the 
checkbook.  Gertrude  left  the  room. 

Captain  Dan  wrote  and  enclosed  and  affixed 
stamps.  The  pile  of  envelopes  on  the  table  grew 
steadily  larger.  Mr.  Hungerford  entered,  seeking 
the  cigar  box. 

"Good-morning,"  he  observed,  cheerfully. 

Daniel  looked  up,  grunted,  and  went  on  with  his 
work.  Cousin  Percy  smiled.  A  querulous  voice 
called  from  the  second  floor. 

265 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Daniel!"  called  Serena.  "Daniel,  where  are 
you?  Why  don't  you  come  up?  I  am  all  alone." 

The  captain  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Comin' !  Se 
rena  !"  he  shouted.  "Comin' !" 

He  hurried  out.  Mr.  Hungerford,  left  alone, 
helped  himself  to  a  cigar  and  strolled  about  the  room. 
The  pile  of  letters  on  the  table  caught  his  attention. 
Idly  he  turned  the  envelopes  over,  examining  the 
addresses.  All  at  once  his  interest  became  less  casual; 
one  of  the  written  names  had  caught  his  attention. 

Five  minutes  later  the  postman  rang  the  door 
bell.  Captain  Dan  ran  downstairs,  entered  the  li 
brary,  seized  the  letters  from  the  table  and  hastened 
to  hand  them  to  the  carrier. 

"Daddy!"  called  Gertrude  from  above,  "did  you 
post  my  letter?" 

"Sure !"  was  the  prompt  answer.  "Just  gave  it  to 
the  mail  man.  It's  on  the  road  now." 

Serena's  "nerves"  were  in  much  better  condition 
the  following  day,  and  her  spirits  likewise.  Ger 
trude,  however,  was  still  grave  and  absent-minded 
and  non-communicative.  Toward  Mr.  Hungerford 
in  particular  she  was  cool  and  distant,  answering  his 
chatty  remarks  and  solicitous  inquiries  concerning 
her  health  with  monosyllables,  and,  on  several  occa 
sions,  leaving  the  room  when  he  entered  it.  This 
state  of  affairs  was  even  more  marked  on  the  second 
day  after  Mr.  Doane's  abrupt  departure,  and  still 
more  so  on  the  third.  She  seemed  nervously  expect 
ant  when  the  postman  brought  the  mail,  and  de 
pressed  when  each  consignment  contained  no  letter 
for  her.  On  the  fourth  day  this  depression  was  so 
marked  that  her  father  asked  the  cause. 

266 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"What  ails  you,  Gertie?"  he  inquired.  "You 
look  as  if  you  just  come  from  a  funeral.  What's 
wrong?" 

Gertrude,  who  was  standing  by  the  window,  look 
ing  out,  answered  wither:  burning  her  head. 

"Nothing,"  she  said  shortly. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that.  I  thought  you  was 
troubled  in  your  mind  about  somethin'.  Ain't  frettin' 
about  John,  are  you?" 

His  daughter  looked  at  him  now,  and  the  look 
was  a  searching  one. 

"About Why  should  I  fret  about  him, 

pray?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I  don't  know.  I  thought  maybe  his  goin'  away 
so  sudden  was  a  sort  of  disappointment  to  you. 
'Twas  to  the  rest  of  us.  Hey?  Did  you  say  some- 
thin'?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  did.  Well,  you  mustn't  be 
disappointed,  Gertie.  You  see,  business  is  business. 
John  did  what  he  thought  was  right  and " 

"Daddy,  do  be  still.  I  do  not  intend  to  trouble 
myself  about — him.  Don't  talk  to  me,  please.  I 
don't  feel  like  talking." 

Daniel  talked  no  more,  at  that  time,  but  he  won 
dered,  and  determined  to  ask  Serena  her  opinion 
when  the  opportunity  came. 

It  did  not  come  immediately.  A  new  development 
in  Chapter  politics  was  occupying  Mrs.  Dott's  mind, 
a  development  so  wonderful  and  so  glorious  in  its 
promise  that  that  lady  could  think  or  speak  of  little 
else.  Mrs.  Lake's  term  as  president  of  Scarford 
Chapter  was  nearing  its  end.  Annette  Black,  the 

267 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

vice-president,  would  have  been,  in  the  regular  course 
of  events,  Mrs.  Lake's  successor  to  the  high  office. 
But  Mrs.  Lake  and  Annette,  bosom  friends  for  years, 
had  had  a  falling  out.  At  first  merely  a  disagree 
ment,  it  had  been  aggravated  and  developed  into  a 
bitter  quarrel.  The  two  ladies  did  not  speak  to  each 
other.  Annette  announced  her  candidacy  in  meeting, 
and  the  very  next  day  Mrs.  Lake  came  to  Serena 
with  an  amazing  proposition. 

The  proposition  was  this:  Mrs.  Lake,  it  seemed, 
wished  to  become  secretary  of  the  National  Legion. 
In  order  to  do  this — or  to  become  even  a  prominent 
candidate — it  was  necessary  for  her  to  have  the  sup 
port  of  the  officers  of  her  own  Chapter.  If  Mrs. 
Black  was  elected  president  she  most  decidedly  would 
not  have  this  support. 

"That  woman  is  a  cat,"  she  declared,  "a  spiteful 
underhanded  cat.  After  all  I  have  done  for  her! 
Why,  she  never  would  have  been  vice-president  if  it 
had  not  been  for  me !  And  just  because  she  heard 
that  I  said  something — something  about  her  that  was 
perfectly  true,  even  if  I  did  not  say  it — she  broke 
out  in  committee  and  said  things  to  me  that — that 
I  never  shall  forget,  never!  She  shan't  be  president. 
I  have  as  many  friends  as  she  has  and  I'll  see  to 
that.  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dott,  I  am  counting  on 
you — and  your  daughter,  of  course — as  among  those 
friends.  We  must  select  some  woman  for  the  presi 
dency  who  will  command  the  respect  and  get  the 
votes  of  all  disinterested  members.  Miss  Canby 
wants  the  office,  but  she  is  too  closely  identified  with 
me  to  be  perfectly  safe.  But  our  party — I  and  my 
friends,  I  mean — have  been  considering  the  matter 

268 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

and  we  have  decided  that  a  dark  horse — thai  is  what 
the  politicians  call  it — a  dark  horse  is  bound  to  win. 
We  must  get  the  right  kind  of  dark  horse.  And  we 
think  we  have  it — him — her,  I  mean.  You  shall  be 
our  candidate.  You  shall  be  president  of  Scarford 
Chapter." 

Serena  gasped. 

"Me?"  she  cried,  forgetful,  for  once,  of  her  care 
fully  nurtured  correctness  of  speech.  "Me?  Presi 
dent?" 

"Yes,  you.  You  are  liked  and  respected  by  every 
member.  You  are  known  to  be  rich — I  mean  cul 
tured  and  progressive  and  broad-minded.  We  can 
elect  you  and  we  will.  Isn't  it  splendid?  I'm  so 
proud  to  be  the  one  to  bring  you  the  news  1" 

There  was  one  strong  qualification  possessed  by 
Mrs.  Dott  which  the  bearer  of  good  news  omitted 
to  mention.  Serena  was  supposed  to  be  Annette 
Black's  most  devoted  friend.  Announcement  of  her 
candidacy  would  have  the  effect  of  splitting  the  Black 
party  in  twain.  Mrs.  Lake  and  her  followers  were 
very  much  aware  of  this,  although  their  spokes 
woman  said  nothing  about  it. 

"You'll  accept,  of  course,"  gushed  Mrs.  Lake. 
"Of  course  you  will.  I  shall  be  so  proud  to  vote  and 
work  for  you." 

Serena  hesitated.  The  honor  of  being  president 
of  her  beloved  Chapter  was  a  dazzling  prospect. 
And  yet — and  yet 

"You  will,  won't  you?"  begged  the  caller. 

"No,"  said  Serena.  "No,  Mrs.  Lake,  I  can't. 
I  could  not  run  against  Annette  Black.  She  is  my 
best  and  dearest  friend.  If  it  were  not  for  her  I 

269 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

should  not  have  come  to  Scarford  at  all.  It  would 
be  treachery  of  the  meanest  kind.  No,  Mrs.  Lake, 
I  am  not  that  kind  of  a  friend.  No." 

"But " 

"Please  don't  speak  of  it  again.  I  am  ashamed 
even  to  hear  you.  Let's  talk  of  something  else." 

But  Mrs.  Lake  did  not  want  to  talk  of  anything 
else.  She  urged  and  argued  and  pleaded  in  vain. 
Then  she  began  to  lose  her  temper.  The  parting 
was  not  cordial. 

And  then  came  Mrs.  Black,  herself.  She,  some 
how  or  other,  had  learned  of  the  offer  to  be  made 
Serena.  When  she  found  that  the  latter  had  re 
fused  that  offer  because  of  loyalty  to  her,  she  fairly 
bubbled  over. 

"You  dear!"  she  cried,  embracing  her  hostess. 
"You  dear,  splendid  thing!  It  was  what  I  expected; 
I  knew  you'd  do  it;  but  I'm  so  happy  and  so  grate 
ful.  I  never  shall  forget  it — never.  And  whenever 
I  can  prove  my  loyalty  and  devotion  to  you,  be  sure 
I  shall  do  it." 

Serena  was  touched  and  gratified,  but  there  was 
just  a  shade  of  disappointment  in  her  tone  as  she 
answered. 

"I  know  you  will,"  she  said.  "Of  course,  I  had 
rather  be  president  of  Scarford  Chapter  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world,  but " 

And  then  Annette  had  an  idea.  She  clasped  he: 
hands. 

"You  shall  be,"  she  cried.  "You  shall  be.  Not 
this  term,  but  the  next — the  very  next.  This  term  I 
shall  be  president,  and  you — you  shall  be  vice-presi 
dent.  With  you  as  our  candidate  we  can  beat  that 

270 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Canby  creature  to  death.  Oh,  lovely!  It  is  an  in 
spiration." 

And  on  that  basis  it  was  settled.  The  opposing 
tickets  were  Black  and  Dott  against  Canby  and  a 
lady  by  the  name  of  Saunderson,  another  of  Mrs. 
Lake's  "dear  friends."  The  Chapter  was  racked 
from  end  to  end.  Politics  became  the  daily  food  of 
its  members. 

For  Serena  it  was  almost  the  only  food.  She  was 
too  busy  to  eat,  except  at  odd  times  and  hurriedly, 
and  she  slept  less  than  ever.  Her  nervousness  in 
creased  and  she  lost  weight.  Daniel  was  worried 
concerning  her  health  and  would  have  mentioned  his 
worriment  to  Gertrude  had  not  that  young  lady's 
mental  state  and  behavior  worried  him  almost  as 
much. 

Gertrude,  for  the  first  week  after  John  Doane's 
departure,  was  depressed  and  silent  and  solemn. 
Once,  her  father  found  her  in  her  room,  crying 
and  when  he  anxiously  asked  the  reason  she  bade 
him  go  away  and  leave  her,  so  sharply  and  in  a 
tone  so  unlike  her,  that  he  went  without  further 
protestation.  He  did,  however,  go  to  Serena  for 
advice. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Serena  impatiently. 
"She  misses  John,  I  suppose.  She  thought  he  was 
going  to  stay  and  he  didn't,  and  she  was  disap 
pointed.  Don't  bother  me!  Don't!  I've  checked 
this  voting  list  over  three  times  already  and  it  has 
come  out  different  each  time.  I'm  so  tired  and  head 
achy  and  nervous  I  think  I  shall  die.  Sometimes  I 
don't  care  if  I  do.  Go  away." 

"But,  Serena,  there's — there's  somethin'  queer 
271 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

about  Gertie  and  John.    I  don't  believe  she's  heard 
from  him  since  he  left.    I  don't  believe  she  has." 

"Then,  why  doesn't  she  write  and  find  out  what 
is  the  matter?  Perhaps  he's  sick." 

"Maybe  so,  but  perhaps  she  don't  want  to  write. 
Perhaps  she's  waitin'  for  him  to  do  it." 

"He  can't  write  if  he's  sick,  can  he?  Why  don't 
she  telegraph  him?" 

"That  would  be  just  the  same,  the  way  she  may 
look  at  it." 

"Then  wire  him  yourself,  why  don't  you?  Oh, 
please  go  away — please.  I'll  speak  to  her,  Daniel, 
when  I  get  time;  I  was  going  to.  But  just  now  I — 
oh,  my  poor  head!" 

Daniel  made  up  his  mind  to  telegraph  Doane  that 
very  afternoon,  but  he  did  not.  A  happening  in  the 
household  prevented  him.  Mr.  Hapgood  was  sum 
marily  discharged. 

Azuba  was  responsible  for  the  affair.  Serena 
was  out — "committeeing"  as  usual — Gertrude  was 
with  her.  Mr.  Hungerford,  also,  was  absent.  Cap 
tain  Dan,  in  the  library,  dolefully  musing  in  an  arm 
chair,  heard  a  violent  altercation  in  the  kitchen.  As 
it  did  not  cease,  but  became  more  violent,  he  hastened 
to  the  scene. 

Azuba  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen, 
her  back  against  the  table,  facing  the  butler.  Mr. 
Hapgood's  face  was  red,  his  fists  were  clenched,  and 
he  was  shaking  one  of  them  under  the  housekeeper's 
nose. 

"Give  it  to  me !"  he  ordered.  "  'And  it  over  now, 
or  I'll  bash  you  good  and  'ard." 

Azuba  merely  smiled.    "You'll  bash  nobody,"  she 
272 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

declared.  "You're  a  thief,  that's  what  you  are — a 
low-down  thief.  I've  always  cal'lated  you  was  one, 
ever  since  I  laid  eyes  on  you ;  now  I  know  it.  Don't 
you  dare  shake  your  fist  at  me.  If  my  husband  was 
here  he'd " 

Hapgood  interrupted,  savagely  consigning  the 
Ginns,  both  male  and  female,  to  a  much  hotter 
place  than  the  kitchen.  Captain  Dan  strode  into 
the  room. 

"Here!"  he  said  sharply.  "What's  all  this? 
You,"  addressing  Hapgood,  "what  do  you  mean  by 
shakin'  your  fist  at  a  woman?" 

Mr.  Hapgood's  bluster  collapsed,  like  a  punc 
tured  toy  balloon.  He  cringed  instead. 

"W'y,  sir,"  he  pleaded,  "it  wasn't  anything.  I 
lost  my  temper  a  bit,  sir,  that's  all.  She" — with  a 
malignant  snarl  at  Azuba — "she's  got  a  letter  of 
mine.  She  stole  it  and  won't  give  it  up.  I  was  an 
gry,  sir,  same  as  any  man  would  'ave  been,  and  I  for 
got  myself.  Make  'er  'and  over  my  letter,  sir." 

The  captain  turned  to  the  defiant  Mrs.  Ginn. 

"Have  you  got  a  letter  of  his,  Zuba?"  he  de 
manded. 

Azuba  laughed.  "I  have,"  she  declared,  "and 
I'm  glad  of  it.  I've  been  waiting  to  get  somethin' 
like  it  for  a  long  spell.  Stealin' !  He  accuse  any 
body  of  stealin' !  Here,  Daniel  Dott,  you  read  that 
letter.  Read  it  and  see  who's  been  doin'  the  stealin' 
around  here." 

She  extended  the  letter  at  arm's  length.  The  but 
ler  made  a  snatch  at  it,  but  Captain  Dan  was  too 
quick.  He  unfolded  the  crumpled  sheet  of  paper. 
It  bore  the  printed  name  and  address  of  one  of 

273 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Scarford's    newer    and   more    recently    established 
grocers  and  prevision  dealers,  and  read  as  follows: 

EDWARD  H.  HAPGOOD, 

SIR  : — Our  order  clerk  informs  us  that  you  expect 
a  higher  percentage  of  commission  on  goods  ordered 
by  your  household.  We  do  not  feel  that  we  should 
pay  this.  While  we,  being  a  new  house,  were  willing, 
in  order  to  obtain  your  business,  to  allow  a  fair  rate 
of  commission  to  you  for  putting  it  in  our  way,  and 
while,  during  the  past  three  months,  we  have  paid 
such  commission,  we  do  not  feel 

Daniel  tossed  the  note  on  the  floor.  He  marched 
to  the  door  leading  to  the  back  yard  and  threw  it 
open.  Then  he  turned  to  the  butler. 

"See  that  door?"  he  inquired,  pointing  toward  it. 
"Use  it." 

Hapgood  did  not  seem  to  comprehend. 

"Wh-what,  sir?"  he  faltered. 

"Use  that  door.  Get  out !  Out  of  this  house,  and 
don't  you  dare  show  your  nose  inside  it  again. 
Here!"  stepping  to  the  rack  behind  the  open  door. 
"These  are  your — duds — aren't  they?  Take  'em 
and  get  out.  Quick!" 

He  threw  an  overcoat  and  hat  at  the  astonished 
man-servant,  who  caught  them  mechanically. 

"Get!"  repeated  the  captain. 

Hapgood  apparently  understood  at  last.  His 
usual  expression  of  polite  humility  vanished  and  he 
glowered  malevolently. 

"So  I'm  fired,  am  I?"  he  demanded.  "Fired, 
without  no  notice  or  nothin'.  'Ow  about  my  two 

274 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

weeks'  wages?  'Ow  about  square  treatment?  'Ow 
about  my  things  upstairs?  I've  got  rights,  I  'ave, 
and  you'll  find  it  out.  Blame  your  eyes,  I " 

He  darted  through  the  doorway  just  in  time.  Cap 
tain  Dan  was  on  the  threshold. 

"You  can  send  for  your  things  upstairs,"  said  the 
captain.  "They'll  be  ready — either  up  there  or  on 
the  sidewalk.  Now,  my — hum — thief,"  with  delib 
erate  and  dangerous  calmness,  "I'm  comin'  out  into 
that  yard.  If  I  was  you  I'd  be  somewhere  else  when 
I  get  there.  That's  my  advice." 

The  advice  was  taken.  Mr.  Hapgood  was  in  the 
street  by  the  time  his  employer  reached  the  gate. 
Bolting  that  gate,  Daniel  walked  back  to  the  kitchen. 

"Thank  you,  Zuba,"  he  said  quietly.  "You've 
only  confirmed  what  I  suspected  before,  but  thank 
you,  just  the  same." 

Azuba  was  regarding  him  with  a  surprise  in  which 
respect  was  strongly  mingled. 

"You're  welcome,"  she  said  drily.  "It's  good 
riddance  to  bad  rubbish,  that's  what  I  call  it.  But," 
her  surprise  getting  the  better  of  her  judgment,  "I 
must  say  I  ain't  seen  you  behave — I  mean " 

She  stopped,  the  judgment  returning.  But  Cap 
tain  Dan  read  her  thoughts  and  answered  them. 

"He's  a  man,"  he  said  shortly,  "or  an  apology  for 
one.  I  know  how  to  deal  with  a  man — his  kind,  any 
way." 

Azuba  nodded.  "I  should  say  you  did,"  she  ob 
served.  "Well,  if  you'd  like  to  hear  the  whole  yarn, 
how  I  come  to  suspect  him  and  all,  I  can  tell  you. 
You  see " 

But  Daniel  would  not  listen.     "I  don't  want  to 

275 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

hear  it,"  he  said.  "Tell  Serena,  if  you  want  to,  when 
she  comes  home.  I've  got  too  much  else  on  my 
mind  to  bother  with  swabs  like  him.  If  he  should 
try  to  come  back  again  you  can  call  me,  otherwise 
not.  I  ain't  interested." 

And  yet,  if  he  could  have  seen  and  heard  his  ex- 
butler  just  at  that  moment,  he  might  have  been  in 
terested.  Hapgood,  on  the  next  corner,  out  of  sight 
from  the  Dott  home,  had  met  and  waylaid  Mr.  Percy 
Hungerford.  To  the  latter  gentleman  he  was  telling 
the  story  of  his  discharge.  Cousin  Percy  seemed 
disturbed  and  angry. 

"It's  your  own  fault,"  he  declared.  "You  ought 
to  have  been  more  careful." 

"Careful !  'Ow  should  I  know  the  fools  was  going 
to  write  a  letter?  I  told  'em  not  to.  And  'ow  did 
I  know  the  old  woman — blast  'er — was  watchin'  me 
all  the  time?  And  now  I've  lost  my  job,  and  a  good 
soft  job,  too.  You've  got  to  get  it  back  for  me,  Mr. 
'Ungerford;  you've  got  to  'elp  me,  sir." 

"I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  of  course,  but  I  doubt  if  it 
will  do  any  good.  I  can't  stand  talking  with  you 
here.  Drop  me  a  line  at  the  club,  telling  me  where 
you  are,  and  I'll  let  you  know  what  turns  up.  Oh, 
say,  have  any  more  letters  come  for — you  know 
who?" 

"No,  that  was  the  only  one,  sir.  But  a  telegram 
came  this  morning." 

Mr.  Hungerford  started.  "A  telegram?"  he  re 
peated.  "For  her?" 

"Yes,  sir.    And  from  'im,  it  was,  too." 

"Did  she  get  it?" 

Mr.  Hapgood  winked.  "It  was  'phoned  up  from 
276 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

the  telegraph  office,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  answered 
the  'phone.  'Ere's  the  copy  I  made,  sir." 

He  extracted  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket. 
Cousin  Percy  snatched  the  slip  and  read  the  pen 
ciled  words.  Hapgood  smiled. 

''Looks  good,  don't  it,  sir,"  he  observed.  "  'Fris 
co's  a  long  way  off." 

Hungerford  did  not  answer.  He  tore  the  paper 
into  small  pieces  and  tossed  them  away. 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "good  by  and 
good  luck.  Let  me  know  where  you  are  and  mean 
while  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  for  you.  Good  by." 

He  was  moving  off,  but  his  companion  stepped 
after  him. 

"Just  a  minute,  sir,"  he  said.  "Could  you  'elp 
me  out  a  bit,  in  the  money  way?  I'm  flat  broke;  the 
old  'ayseed  chucked  me  without  a  penny;  'e  did,  so 
'elp  me." 

Cousin  Percy  looked  distinctly  annoyed. 

"I'm  pretty  nearly  broke  myself,"  he  declared,  im 
patiently. 

"Is  that  so,  sir.  I'm  sorry,  but  I  think  you'll  'ave 
to  'elp  me  a  bit.  I  think — I  think  you'd  better,  Mr. 
'Ungerford,  sir." 

Hungerford  looked  at  him.  The  look  was  re 
turned.  Then  the  young  gentleman  extracted  a  some 
what  attenuated  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  peeled 
off  two  and  handed  them  to  his  companion. 

"There  you  are,"  he  replied.  "That's  all  and 
more  than  I  can  spare,  just  now.  Good  by." 

"Good  by,  sir — for  now.    And  thank  you  kindly." 

Captain  Dan,  for  all  his  prompt  handling  of  the 
thieving  butler  and  his  professed  ability  to  deal  with 

277 


V 

CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

men — Mr.  Hapgood's  kind  of  man — awaited  the 
return  of  his  wife  and  daughter  with  considerable 
uneasiness.  Hapgood,  in  his  capacity  as  trained, 
capable,  aristocratic  servant,  had  been  a  favorite  of 
Serena's.  The  captain  dreaded  telling  his  wife  what, 
in  the  heat  of  his  anger,  he  had  done.  But  his  dread 
was  needless.  Serena's  mind  was  too  much  occupied 
with  politics  and  political  ambition  to  dwell  upon  less 
important  matters. 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "If  he  was 
a  thief  he  should  be  discharged,  of  course.  No 
doubt  you  did  right,  Daniel,  but  we  shall  miss  him 
dreadfully.  I  don't  know  where  we  can  get  another 
butler  like  him." 

Daniel  gasped.  "Good  land  of  love!"  he  cried; 
"we  don't  want  another  like  him,  do  we !  I  should 
hope  we  didn't." 

"I  don't  mean  another  thief.  Oh,  dear  me !  Why 
do  you  pick  me  up  in  that  way?  One  would  think 
you  took  a  delight  in  worrying  me  all  you  could.  Get 
me  a  cup  of  tea.  I  want  it  right  away.  My  nerves 
are  all  unstrung.  Gertie " 

But  Gertie  had  gone  to  her  room;  she  spent  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  there  now.  Her  mother 
sighed. 

"She's  gone,"  she  declared.  -"Just  when  I  need 
her  most,  of  course.  I  can't  see  what  has  got  into 
her  for  the  last  few  days.  She  was  so  interested  in 
the  Chapter.  Even  more  than  I,  I  began  to  think. 
And  yet,  at  the  committee  meeting  this  afternoon — 
the  most  important  meeting  we've  had;  when  we 
were  counting  the  votes  which  we  can  be  sure  of  and 
those  that  are  doubtful,  she  scarcely  said  a  word. 

278 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Just  sat  there  and  moped.    I  don't  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  her." 

Daniel  nodded.  "I  think  I  do,"  he  said.  "It's 
John.  Somethin's  the  matter  between  her  and  John. 
If  he  had  only  stayed  here !  If  he  would  only  come 
back!" 

"Then  for  mercy  sakes  get  him  back!  Telegraph 
him.  You  said  you  were  going  to." 

Captain  Dan  rose.  "I  will,"  he  declared.  "I'll 
do  it  right  now,  this  minute.  Not  till  I  see  you  to 
your  tea,  Serena,"  he  added,  hastily.  "I'll  tell  Zuba 
about  that  first,  of  course." 

He  sent  the  telegram  within  the  hour.  It  was  an 
inquiry  concerning  Mr.  Doane's  whereabouts,  his 
employer's  health,  how  he  was  getting  on,  and  when 
he — John — was  to  return  to  Scarford.  The  answer 
arrived,  via  telephone,  about  eight  that  evening.  It 
was  a  surprising  answer. 

"Doane  gone  to  San  Francisco  on  business  of  the 
firm,"  it  said.  "Left  at  midnight  yesterday." 

It  was  signed  by  the  senior  partner.  Serena  had 
gone  out,  of  course;  she  was  scarcely  ever  in  now, 
but  Gertrude,  having  finished  dinner,  was  in  her  room 
as  usual.  Her  father  hurried  up  the  stairs. 

"Gertie,"  he  cried,  entering  without  knocking, 
"Gertie,  what  do  you  suppose  I've  just  found  out? 
It's  the  most  astonishing  news.  John  is — he  has — 
Why,  you'd  never  guess !" 

Gertrude,  who  was  sitting  in  the  rocking  chair 
by  the  window,  showed  her  first  sign  of  interest.  At 
the  mention  of  the  name  she  turned  quickly. 

"What?"  she  cried,  in  a  startled  voice.     "What? 

Is  it — is  it  bad  news?    He  isn't — isn't " 

279 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"No,  no !  No,  no  I  He's  all  right.  Don't  look 
like  that,  you  scare  me.  John's  all  right;  that  is,  I 
suppose  he  is.  But  he —  Here!  read  it  yourself." 

Gertrude  took  the  paper  upon  which  he  had  writ 
ten  the  message.  She  read  the  latter  through;  read 
it  and  reread  it.  Then  she  turned  to  her  father. 

"But  I  can't  understand,"  she  faltered.  "I  can't — 
I  can't  understand.  He  didn't  send  this  himself. 
He  has  gone  to  San  Francisco;  but — but  this  is 
signed  by  som-eone  else.  What  does  it  mean?" 

Daniel  was  frightened.  It  was  time  to  explain, 
and  yet,  considering  his  daughter's  look  and  man 
ner,  he  was  afraid  to  explain. 

"You  see,"  he  stammered,  "well,  you  see,  Gertie, 
that's  an  answer,  that  is.  John  didn't  send  it,  he'd 
gone.  But,  I  presume  likely  they  thought  my  tele 
gram  ought  to  be  answered,  so " 

Gertrude  interrupted.  "Your  telegram?"  she  re 
peated.  "Your  telegram?  What  telegram?" 

"Why,  the  telegram  I  sent  to  John.  I  knew  you 
hadn't  heard  from  him,  and  I  thought  prob 
ably " 

"Wait — wait  a  minute.  Did  you  send  a  telegram 
to — to  him?" 

"Yes;  sure  I  did.     I " 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said — why,  I  said  that  you — we,  I  mean — was 
wonderin'  about  him  and — and  missin'  him  and  when 
was  he  comin'  back  here.  That's  about  what  I  said. 
I  wrote  it  in  a  hurry  and  I  don't  remember  exactly. 
That's  about  it,  anyhow.  Why,  what's  the  mat 
ter?" 

Gertrude  had  risen. 

280 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"You  said  that!"  she  cried.  "You — without  a 
word  to  me — said — you  begged  him  to  come  back! 
Begged  him !  on  your  knees !  to — to " 

"No,  no !  I  never  got  on  my  knees.  What  would 
I  do  a  fool  thing  like  that  for,  when  I  was  sendin'  a 
telegram?  I  just  asked " 

"You  just  asked !    You  said  that  I — 7 And 

this  was  your  answer!     This!" 

She  dashed  the  message  to  the  floor,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  threw  herself  upon  the  bed. 
Daniel,  aghast  and  alarmed,  would  have  raised  her 
but  she  pushed  him  away. 

"Oh !"  she  cried.  "The  shame  of  it !  Don't  touch 
me!  Please  don't  touch  me!" 

"But,  Gertie — what  on  earth?" 

"Don't  touch  me.  Please  don't  touch  me.  Just 
go  away,  Daddy.  Go  and  leave  me.  I  mustn't  talk 

to  you  now.     If  I  do,  I  shall  say Please  go. 

I  want  to  be  alone." 

Daniel  went.  That  he  had  made  another  blunder 
was  plain  enough,  but  just  now  he  was  too  hurt  and 
indignant  to  care  a  great  deal. 

"All  right,"  he  said  shortly;  "I'm  goin'.  You 
needn't  worry  about  that.  That's  about  all  the 
orders  I  get  nowadays — to  go  away.  I  ought  to 
be  used  to  it,  by  this  time.  I'm  a  fool,  that's  what 
I  am,  an  old  worn-out,  useless  fool." 

He  slammed  the  door  and  descended  the  stairs. 
He  had  been  in  his  accustomed  refuge,  the  library, 
for  perhaps  twenty  minutes,  when  the  bell  rang. 
He  waited  for  Hapgood  to  answer  the  ring  and 
then,  suddenly  remembering  that  the  butler  had  de 
parted,  answered  it  himself. 

281 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Monty  Holway  smiled  greeting  from  the 
steps. 

"Good  evening,  Captain  Dott,"  he  said.  "Is 
Miss  Dott  in?" 

Daniel  hesitated.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "she's  in, 
but " 

"May  I  see  her?  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
give  her  my  card?" 

The  captain  took  the  card. 

"Ye-es,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  it  to  her,  but — but 

Well,  you  see,  she  ain't  feelin'  very  well  this  evenin' 
and  I  don't  know  as  she'll  want  to  see  anybody." 

Gertrude  herself  called  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"Who  is  it,  Daddy?"  she  asked.  "Someone  for 
me?" 

"It's— er— Mr.  Holway." 

"Oh,  is  it!"  The  tone  was  one  of  delighted  sur 
prise.  "Ask  him  to  come  in,  Daddy.  I'll  be  right 
down." 

She  came  almost  immediately.  She  greeted  the 
caller  with  outstretched  hand. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Holway,"  she  said. 
"I  was  lonely.  It  was  nice  of  you  to  come." 

She  was  pale,  and  the  dark  circles  under  her  eyes 
were  more  apparent  than  ever,  but  the  eyes  them 
selves  were  shining  brightly.  She  was  gay  and,  for 
her,  extremely  vivacious.  Mr.  Holway  looked  grati 
fied  and  happy.  Captain  Dan  looked  astonished 
fc.id  bewildered. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  bewilderment  and  astonishment  remained 
with  the  captain  for  some  time,  just  as  his 
daughter's  apparent  light  heartedness  re 
mained  with  her.  Holway's  call  was  longer  than 
usual,  lasting  until  Serena,  escorted  by  Mr.  Hunger- 
ford,  returned  from  Mrs.  Black's,  where  they  had 
been  discussing  the  all-important  election.  Hunger- 
ford  and  his  friend  greeted  each  other  with  a  marked 
lack  of  warmth;  in  fact,  they  scarcely  spoke.  Se 
rena  was  too  tired  to  talk,  but  Gertrude  talked 
enough  for  all.  She  chatted  and  laughed  with  al 
most  feverish  gaiety  until  the  caller,  after  many 
false  starts  and  with  evident  reluctance,  finally  tore 
himself  away.  Then  her  manner  changed,  she  was 
silent  and  thoughtful  and,  soon  afterward,  said  good 
night  and  went  up  to  her  room. 

Captain  Dan  forebore  to  trouble  his  wife  with 
the  news  of  the  telegram  announcing  John  Doane's 
departure  for  the  West,  and  the  reception  of  that 
news  by  Gertrude.  After  hearing  Serena's  com 
plaints  of  her  "nerves"  and  weariness,  he  decided 
that  there  was  trouble  sufficient  for  that  night.  But 
the  next  morning  he  spoke  of  it.  Serena  was  sur 
prised,  of  course,  and  worried  likewise. 

"You're  right,  Danjel,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid 
you're  right.  She  and  John  must  have  had  some 
disagreement.  I  suppose  it  is  only  a  lover's  quarrel 

28.3 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

— young  engaged  people  are  always  having  foolish 
quarrels — and  they  always  get  over  them  and  make 
up  again.  But,  oh,  dear!  why  did  they  quarrel  just 
now?  Haven't  I  got  enough  on  my  mind  without 
fretting  about  them?  Well,  I'll  talk  to  Gertie  this 
very  forenoon." 

She  did,  but  the  talk  was  unsatisfactory.  When 
Daniel,  waiting  anxiously  to  learn  what  had  taken 
place,  questioned  her  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't  make  Gertie  out,"  she  declared  pettishly. 
"She  acts  so  queer.  Doesn't  want  to  talk  about 
John  at  all.  Says  it  is  all  right,  and  why  should  I 
worry  if  she  doesn't?  And  she  is  so  different,  some 
how.  She  was  willing  enough  to  discuss  my  chances 
for  the  vice-presidency.  She  asked  twenty  questions 
about  that  and  declares  she  is  going  to  help  me. 
And  yesterday,  when  I  wanted  her  to  help,  she 
didn't  take  any  interest.  I  never  saw  such  a  change. 
And  she  is  so — so  fidgety  and — and  nervous  and 
high-spirited  and  silly.  She  laughed  at  nothing  and 
kept  jumping  up  and  walking  about  and  sitting  down 
again.  I  declare!  it  made  me  jumpy  just  to  look 
at  her." 

Gertrude's  conduct  was  certainly  surprising.  It 
caused  Captain  Dan  to  feel  "jumpy"  more  than 
once.  Her  determination  to  help  her  mother  in  the 
campaign  she  put  into  immediate  practice.  She 
called  Cousin  Percy  into  council,  borrowed  Serena's 
list  of  Chapter  members,  and  the  pair  spent  hours 
checking  that  list  together.  Then  Gertrude  an 
nounced  that  she  was  going  to  make  some  calls. 
She  made  them  and  returned,  exultant. 

"I  think  I  have  made  two  converts  this  after- 
284 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

noon,"  she  said.  "I  am  almost  sure  they  will  vote 
for  you,  Mother.  You  and  I  must  go  to  Mrs. 
Black's  to-night  and  talk  it  over  with  her.  We 
must;  it  is  very  important." 

Serena,  who  had  hoped  for  an  early  bedtime, 
expressed  weariness,  and  protested,  but  her  pro 
tests  were  overruled.  They  went  to  the  Blacks' 
and  Captain  Dan  and  Mr.  Hungerford  went,  also. 
Annette  was  delighted  to  see  them.  Mr.  Black  suc 
ceeded  in  repressing  his  joy. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  Dan!"  he  exclaimed,  when 
he  and  the  captain  were  alone,  "isn't  there  ever 
going  to  be  any  let-up  to  this  torn-foolery?  Are 
these  women  of  ours  going  stark  crazy?" 

Daniel  gloomily  replied  that  he  didn't  know. 

"You're  worse  off  than  I  am,"  continued  B. 
Phelps.  "There's  two  lunatics  in  your  family  and 
only  one  in  mine.  Your  daughter's  just  as  bad  as 
her  mother,  every  bit — worse,  if  anything.  But,  it 
seems  to  agree  with  her.  I  never  saw  her  so  lively 
or  so  pretty  either.  Humph !  your  pet  cousin  there 
is  badly  gone,  or  I'm  no  judge.  Well,  you  remem 
ber  what  I  told  you  about  him." 

Danfel  nodded.    He  was  too  depressed  for  words. 

"All  right,  it's  your  funeral,  not  mine.  But,  say! 
there's  one  ray  of  hope.  The  whole  crowd  may 
be  licked  to  death  in  this  election.  If  they  are,  my 
wife  says  she'll  resign  from  the  Chapter  and  sever 
speak  to  one  of  the  bunch  again.  It  sounds  too  good 
to  be  true,  but  it  may  be.  It's  enough  to  make  a 
fellow  hop  in  and  do  some  political  work  himself — 
for  the  other  side.  What?" 

The  political  work  continued,  mornings  and  after- 
285 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

noons,  evenings  and  far  into  the  nights.  Serena  was 
in  it,  Gertrude  was  in  it,  and  Cousin  Percy  and  Mr. 
Holway  were  in  it  because  she  was.  Monty's 
calls  were  of  frequent  occurrence.  Mr.  Hungerford 
and  his  erstwhile  chum  did  not  speak  to  each  other 
at  all  now.  But  at  receptions  and  teas  and  dances 
and  musicals  and  committee  meetings  one  or  the 
other  was  on  hand  at  Miss  Dott's  elbow.  And  Ger 
trude  was  very  gracious  to  them  both;  not  more  to 
one  than  the  other,  but  exceptionally  kind  and  agree 
able  to  each. 

The  social  affairs  were  of  almost  as  frequent 
occurrence  as  the  political  meetings.  Gertrude  ac 
cepted  all  invitations  and  urged  her  mother  to  ac 
cept. 

"You  must,  Mother,"  she  declared.  "Now  is  the 
time  when  you  can't  afford  to  offend  or  neglect  any 
one.  You  may  need  their  votes  and  influence." 

"But,  Gertie,"  pleaded  poor,  tired  Serena,  "I 
can't  go  everywhere." 

"You  must.  If  this  vice-presidency  is  worth  all 
the  world  to  you,  as  you  say  it  is,  you  must  sacrifice 
everything  else  to  get  it." 

"But,  I  can't!  I'm  almost  worn  out.  I — I — oh, 
sometimes  I  feel  almost  willing  to  give  it  all  up  and 
go  back  to — to — almost  anywhere,  even  Trumet,  if 
I  could  rest  there." 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Mother." 

"No;  no,  of  course  I  don't." 

"Because  if  you  do,  why — well,  that  is  different, 
If  you  want  to  go  back  to  dead  and  alive  old  Tru 
met •" 

"I  don't.   I — I  wouldn't  for  anything.   I  shouldn't 
286 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

think  you,  of  all  people,  would  hint  at  such  a  thing. 
You!  When  I  have  climbed  so  high  already;  when 
our  social  position  has  become  what  it  is.  You  I  talk 
ing  of  going  back  to  Trumet." 

"I'm  not.  You  mentioned  it;  I  didn't.  I'm  hav 
ing  a  beautiful  time.  I  just  love  our  social  position. 
The  Blacks  and  the  Kellys  and — er — that  Miss  Du- 
sante !  Oh,  I  adore  them.  I  wouldn't  leave  such 
cultured  people  for  anything.  And  you  enjoy  it  so, 
Mother.  You  look  so  happy." 

Was  there  a  trace  of  sarcasm  in  this  outburst? 
Serena  was,  for  the  moment,  suspicious.  She  tried 
her  hardest  to  look  very  happy  indeed. 

"I  am  happy,  of  course,"  she  declared. 

"I  know  it.  And  we  want  to  keep  on  being  happy, 
don't  we.  So  we  must  not  decline  anyone's  invita 
tion.  We  must  go,  go,  go,  all  the  time." 

"But  some  of  the  invitations  are  from  people  I 
scarcely  know  at  all.  And  some  I  don't  like." 

"That  makes  no  difference.  They  may  be  of 
value  to  you  in  your  campaign,  or  socially,  or  some 
how.  Don't  you  see,  Mother?  In  politics  or  so 
ciety  one  wishes  to  advance,  to  climb  higher  all  the 
time.  And  to  do  that  one  must  use  one's  acquaint 
ances  as  rounds  in  the  ladder.  Use  them ;  get  some 
thing  from  them;  pretend  to  love  them,  no  matter 
whether  you  really  hate  them  or  not.  They  may 
hate  you,  but  they  want  to  use  you.  That's  part  of 
She  game,  Mother." 

This  was  worldly  advice  to  be  given  by  a  young 
lady  scarcely  out  of  college.  And  it  sounded  so 
unlike  Gertrude.  But,  then,  Gertrude  had  changed, 
was  changing  more  and  more  daily. 

287 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"We  don't  entertain  enough,"  went  on  the  ad 
viser.  "We  should  be  giving  some  affair  or  other 
at  least  once  a  week.  Invite  everybody  you  know — 
everyone  but  the  Lake  crowd,  of  course.  I'll  make 
out  a  list  of  eligibles  to-day  and  we'll  give  an  'At 
Home'  next  week." 

"But,  Gertie — the  expense.  It  costs  so  dreadfully. 
We're  not  rich;  that  is,  not  very  rich." 

"No  matter.  Everyone  thinks  we  are.  If  they 
didn't,  most  of  them  would  cut  us  dead  to-morrow. 
We  must  pretend  to  be  very  rich.  I'll  make  out  the 
list.  Mr.  Holway  will  help  me  He  is  coming  to 
call  this  evening." 

Serena  looked  more  troubled  than  ever. 

"Gertie,"  she  said  earnestly,  "I  think  I  ought — 
yes,  I  am  going  to  warn  you  against  that  Mr.  Hol 
way.  I  don't  like  your  having  him  call  or  being 
seen  in  his  company." 

"You  don't!  I  am  surprised.  I'm  sure  he  is  very 
polite  and  agreeable.  He  belongs  to  the  best  club 
and  he  dresses  well,  and  as  to  society — why,  he 
is  in  the  very  heart  of  it;  our  kind  of  society,  I 
mean." 

"I  know,  I  know.  But — well,  Cousin  Percy 
doesn't  speak  well  of  him.  He  says  he  is  a  very 
fast  young  man." 

Gertrude  bit  her  lip.  "Did  Percy  say  that!"  she 
exclaimed.  "How  odd!  Why,  Monty — I  mean 
Mr.  Holway — said  almost  the  same  thing  about  him. 
And  I  know  you  like  Cousin  Percy,  Mother." 

Mrs.  Dott  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  she  did  not  like  their  aristocratic 
relative  quite  as  well  as  she  had  at  first.  There  were 

288 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

certain  things  about  him,  little  mannerisms  and  con 
descensions,  which  jarred  upon  her.  He  was  so 
very,  very  much  at  home  in  the  family  now;  in  fact, 
he  seemed  to  take  his  permanent  membership  in  that 
family  for  granted.  He  had  ceased  to  refer  to  him 
self  as  being  on  a  vacation,  and,  as  for  his  "literary 
work,"  he  appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  alto 
gether. 

But  these  were  not  the  real  reasons  for  Serena's 
growing  dislike  and  uneasiness.  She  hinted  at  the 
real  reason  in  her  next  remark. 

"I  don't  think,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think,  Gertie, 
that  you  and  he  should  be  so  much  together.  You 
are  engaged  to  be  married,  you  know,  and 
John " 

Gertrude  interrupted.  She  ignored  the  mention 
of  Mr.  Doane's  name. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Percy  is  all  right,"  she  said  lightly. 
"He's  good  company.  Of  course  he  may  be  some 
thing  of  a  sport,  but  that  is  to  be  expected.  The 
trouble  with  you  and  me,  Mother,  is  that  we  are 
too  old-fashioned;  we  are  not  sporty  enough." 

"Gertie!"    Serena's  horror  was  beyond  words. 

Gertrude  laughed.  "But  that  can  be  mended," 
she  went  on.  "Mother,  you  should  learn  to  drink 
cocktails  and  tango.  I  think  I  shall.  Everybody's 
doing  it,  doing  it,  doing  it!" 

Humming  this  spirited  ditty,  which  the  street 
pianos  had  rendered  popular,  and  smiling  over  her 
shoulder  at  her  mother,  she  "one-stepped"  from 
the  room.  Serena  put  both  hands  to  her  head.  Her 
"nerves"  were  more  troublesome  than  ever  the  re 
mainder  of  that  day. 

289 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

There  were  enough  troubles  to  rack  even  a  healthy 
set  of  nerves.  The  domestic  situation  was  decidedly 
complicated.  No  successor  to  the  departed  Hap- 
good  had,  as  yet,  been  selected.  Mr.  Hungerford 
was  partially  responsible  for  this.  At  first,  when 
told  of  the  butler's  misbehavior  and  its  consequences, 
he  had  expressed  sorrow,  but  had  advised  forgive 
ness  and  the  reinstallation  of  the  discharged  one. 
The  crime  was,  after  all,  not  so  very  serious.  Most 
butlers  exacted  commissions  from  tradespeople,  so 
he  had  been  told.  Of  course  it  was  all  wrong,  a 
pernicious  system  and  all  that,  but  they  did  do  it. 
And  many  employers  winked  at  the  system.  Hap- 
good  was  an  exceptional  fellow,  really  quite  excep 
tional.  Aunt  Lavinia  had  treated  him  as  one  of 
the  family,  almost  Captain  Dan,  to  whom  these 
statements  were  made,  was  stubbornly  indignant.  He 
wouldn't  wink  at  a  thief,  and  he  wouldn't  fire  him 
and  then  hire  him  over  again,  either.  If  "that  ever- 
lastin'  sneak  showed  his  white-washed  face  on  the 
premises  again,  he'd  have  that  face  damaged."  All 
the  captain  hoped  for  was  a  chance  to  inflict  the 
damage. 

So  Cousin  Percy,  finding  Daniel  obdurate,  tried 
his  influence  upon  Serena,  whom  he  regarded,  and 
justly,  as  the  real  head  of  the  house.  But  Serena, 
too,  refused  to  consider  Mr.  Hapgood's  reemploy- 
ment.  She  had  talked  with  Azuba,  and  Azuba  had 
declared  that  she  should  leave  in  "just  about  two- 
thirds  of  a  jiffy"  if  the  butler  came  back.  "When 
he  comes  into  my  kitchen,"  she  said,  "I  get  out  I 
should  hate  to  quit  the  folks  I'd  worked  for  the 
biggest  part  of  my  life,  but  there's  some  things  I 

290 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

won't  stand.  He's  one  of  'em.  Don't  talk  to  me 
about  him!" 

Mr.  Hapgood  was  not  reengaged  nor  forgiven, 
and  Himgerford  kindly  volunteered  to  find  a  compe 
tent  successor.  He  would  make  some  inquiries 
among  his  friends,  the  right  sort  of  people,  he 
said,  and  his  manner  indicated  that  the  said  people 
were  accustomed  to  employing  butlers  in  droves. 

Azuba,  therefore,  was  left  with  all  the  domestic 
cares  upon  her  hands.  These  hands  were  quite  com 
petent,  had  they  been  disengaged,  but  just  now  they 
were  full.  Azuba  was  "advancing,"  just  as  she  had 
proclaimed  to  Captain  Dan  that  she  intended  to 
do.  She  read  "The  Voice"  and  kindred  literature 
a  great  deal,  and  quoted  from  her  readings  at  every 
opportunity.  Denied  admittance  to  the  Chapter,  in 
spite  of  Gertrude's  efforts  in  her  behalf — Gertrude 
had  warmly  advocated  the  formation  of  a  Servants' 
Branch — she  had  made  search  on  her  own  hook  and 
suddenly  announced  that  she  had  found  what  she 
was  looking  for.  This,  so  she  affirmed,  was  an  or 
ganization  called  "The  Free  Laborers'  Band,"  and 
it  met  in  a  hall  somewhere  or  other,  though  no  one 
but  its  members  seemed  to  know  just  where  that 
hall  was.  Serena  made  inquiries,  but  neither  ser 
vants  nor  mistresses  had  ever  heard  of  the  "Band." 
Gertrude,  when  she  heard  of  it,  at  first  seemed  to 
be  much  amused,  and  laughed  heartily.  Then  she 
became  very  grave  and  declared  it  a  splendid  thing 
and  that  she  was  delighted  because  Azuba  had  found 
her  opportunity.  She  was  entitled  to  that  oppor 
tunity,  as  was  every  free  woman,  and  certainly 
neither  Gertrude  <?r  her  mother,  being  "free  women" 

291 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

themselves,  must  offer  objection  or  permit  mere 
household  drudgery  to  interfere. 

So  Azuba  "advanced"  and  preached  and  went  out 
at  night  and  occasionally  during  the  day.  Gertrude 
and  Serena  went  out  all  the  time,  when  they  were 
not  entertaining  themselves.  Life  became  a  never- 
ending  round  of  politics  and  society  functions,  fol 
lowed  by,  on  Mrs.  Dott's  part,  sleepless  nights  and 
"nerves"  and  fretful  worriment  concerning  Gertrude. 
Gertrude  did  not  appear  to  worry.  She  grew  gayer 
and  more  gay,  more  careless  in  her  manner  and 
more  slangy  in  her  speech.  Mr.  Holway  continued 
to  call  and  Cousin  Percy  to  dance  solicitous  attend 
ance.  John  Doane's  name  was  never  mentioned  in 
his  fiancee's  presence.  She  would  not  speak,  or  per 
mit  others  to  speak,  of  him. 

And  then  Mr.  Holway  ceased  to  call.  His  final 
call  was  a  lengthy  one,  and  he  and  Gertrude  were 
alone  during  the  latter  part  of  it.  The  following 
day  Daniel  met  him  on  the  street  and  was  barely 
recognized.  The  captain  was  not  greatly  troubled 
at  the  slight — he  did  not  care  greatly  for  the  lively 
Monty — but  he  was  surprised.  When  he  men 
tioned  the  meeting  to  his  daughter  the  young  lady 
smiled,  but  offered  no  explanation.  Her  father  did 
not  press  the  point.  As  Holway  came  no  more  and 
it  became  apparent  that  he  was  not  coming,  the 
captain  was  satisfied. 

Gertrude's  strange  behavior  alarmed  and  troubled 
him,  but  his  wife's  ill  health  and  her  worn,  weary 
expression  alarmed  him  more.  He  was  actually 
frightened  concerning  her. 

"Oh,  Serena,"  he  begged,  "what  makes  you  do  it? 
292 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

It  isn't  worth  it.  You're  killin'  yourself.  Let's  give 
it  up  and  go  somewhere  and  rest.  The  Queen  of 
Sheba's  job  ain't  worth  it,  let  alone  just  bein'  vice- 
president  of  Scarford  Chapter." 

But  Serena  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  give  it  up, 
Daniel,"  she  declared  hysterically.  "I — I  think  I 
would  if  I  could.  I  really  do.  Sometimes  I  feel 
as  if  I  would  give  up  everything  just  to  be  at  peace 
and  happy  and  contented  again." 

uYou  bet!"  with  enthusiasm.  "So  would  I.  And 
we  were  contented  at  Trumet,  wasn't  we?  That 
is,  I  was;  and  you  was  enough  sight  better  contented 
than  you  are  now." 

"I  know,  I  know.  But  I  can't  give  it  up,  Daniel. 
Don't  you  see?  I  can't!  I  mustn't  think  of  myself 
at  all.  See  how  loyally  Annette  and  the  rest  have 
stood  by  me.  Their  splendid  loyalty  is  the  one  thing 
that  makes  it  worth  while.  I  must  keep  up  and  fight 
on  for  their  sakes.  I  must  be  as  true  to  them  as 
they  are  to  me.  Would  they  desert  me  for  any 
thing?  No!  And  I  shan't  desert  them.  I  am  going 
to  be  elected.  I  know  it.  After  that,  after  the  elec 
tion  is  over,  I  may — I  might,  perhaps " 

"You  might  go  somewhere  with  me  and  have  a 
good,  comfortable  time.  All  right,  we  will.  And 
Gertie  can  go,  too." 

The  mention  of  her  daughter's  name  seemed  to 
be  more  disturbing  than  all  the  rest.  Serena  burst 
into  tears. 

"She  wouldn't  go,  Daniel!"  she  cried.  "You 
know  she  wouldn't.  She — she  is  going  crazy,  I  do- 
believe.  She  is  wild  about  society  and  bridge — she 
told  me  only  yesterday  she  wasn't  sure  that  playing 

293 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

for  money  was  wrong.  All  my  friends  and  her 
friends  did  it  and  why  shouldn't  we?  And  she  dances 
all  these  dreadful  new  dances  and  uses  slang  and — 
and — oh,  she  is — I  don't  know  -what  she  will  be  if 
this  keeps  on.  Why  does  she  do  it?  Who  is  re 
sponsible?" 

Daniel  did  not  answer.  He  had  a  feeling  that 
he  could,  without  moving  from  his  chair,  lay  a  hand 
upon  the  person  chiefly  responsible,  but  he  kept  that 
feeling  to  himself. 

"She'd  go,  if  we  wanted  her  to,"  he  affirmed 
stoutly. 

"No,  she  wouldn't." 

"By  time!  she  would.  You  and  I  would  make 
her.  I  couldn't  do  it  alone,  I  know  that,  but  if  you'll 
say  the  word  and  stand  by  me  she'll  go,  if  I  have 
to — to  give  her  ether  and  take  her  while  she's  asleep. 
Say  the  word,  that's  all  I  want  you  to  do." 

Serena  did  not  say  the  word,  not  then.  She  con 
tinued  to  moan  and  wring  her  hands. 

"She's  all  wrong,  Daniel!"  she  cried.  "She  does 
wrong  things.  She  is  with — with  Cousin  Percy  too 
much.  He  and  she  are  getting  to  be  altogether  too 
friendly.  She  has  dropped  John  for  good,  I'm 
afraid.  Oh,  suppose  she  should " 

The  captain's  anger  burst  forth  at  this  expression 
of  his  own  secret  dread. 

"Suppose  she  should  marry  that  Hungerford,  you 
mean!"  he  cried.  "She  won't!  She  won't!  She's 
too  sensible,  anyway;  but,  if  she  should,  I — I'd  rather 
see  her  dead.  Yes,  sir,  dead!" 

"So  had  I.     But  Cousin  Percy " 

"D n  Cousin  Percy!" 

294 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

For  once  his  profanity  met  with  no  rebuke.  Se 
rena  did  not  appear  to  notice  it. 

"He  is  not  the  right  sort  of  man  for  her,"  she 
declared.  "He  is  polite  and  aristocratic  and  he  has 
helped  us  in  society;  but  he  is  dissipated  and  fast, 
I'm  sure  of  it.  He  has  been  out  a  great  deal  lately 
and  comes  home  late,  and  I  have  heard  him 

come  up  the  stairs  as  if — as  if Oh,  why  did 

you  insist  on  his  staying  here,  living  here  with 
us?" 

"Why  did  7 Humph!  Well,  that's  all 

right.  That's  all  right,  Serena.  You  back  me  up 
in  that,  too,  and  he'll  go  out  a  sight  quicker  than  he 
came  in.  I'll  see  that  he  does.  He'll  fly.  I  can 
handle  men  even  yet — though  I  don't  seem  to  be 
good  for  much  else." 

But  Mrs.  Dott  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  They  couldn't 
put  him  out,  she  declared;  think  of  the  scandal !  No, 
no,  no!  The  interview  ended  by  the  captain's  dis 
missal  and  Serena's  getting  ready  for  that  evening's 
committee  meeting. 

It  developed  that  Azuba's  "Band"  met  on  that 
same  evening.  Gertrude  and  her  mother  had  gone — 
they  were  to  dine  with  the  committee  at  Annette's — 
and  when  Daniel,  at  seven  o'clock,  shouted  for  his 
dinner,  no  dinner  was  ready. 

"I  can't  stop  to  fuss  with  dinner,"  said  Azuba 
firmly.  "I've  got  to  get  ready  for  my  Band  meetin'. 
All  the  afternoon  I've  been  fussin'  with  my  speech — 
I'm  goin'  to  speak  to-night — and  now  it's  time  for 
me  to  change  my  clothes.  I'm  sorry,  Cap'n  Dott; 
I  never  neglected  you  afore;  but  this  time  I've  got 
to.  There's  plenty  to  eat  in  the  ice-chest  and  you 

295 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

must  wait  on  yourself.  No  use  to  talk !  I  ain't  got 
time  to  listen." 

Captain  Dan  was  furious.  This  was  a  trifle  too 
much. 

"You  get  that  dinner!"  he  roared.  "Get  it,  or 
you'll  never  get  another  meal  in  this  house!" 

"Won't  I?  Why  not?  Mrs.  Dott  said  I  might 
go  to  this  meetin'.  She'll  understand." 

"By  time,  Zuba  Ginn,  I'll  discharge  you !  I  will  I 
I  don't  care  if  you  have  been  with  us  since 
Methusalem's  time.  You  old  foolhead!  At  your 
age " 

"I'm  no  older  than  your  wife,  Dan'l  Dott.  And 
you  can't  discharge  me,  neither.  I  wouldn't  go. 
I'm  no  Hapgood.  I've  got  rights  and  I'll  stand  up 
for  'em.  You  ain't  the  boss,  I  guess.  If  Serena 
discharges  me,  all  right;  but  she  won't.  There! 
don't  talk  to  me.  I've  got  other  fish  to  fry." 

She  marched  up  the  back  stairs.  Daniel  sprang 
after  her,  but  she  closed  the  door  in  his  face.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated.  Then  he  turned  back  and, 
reentering  the  kitchen,  began  to  pace  up  and  down, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

He  strode  from  the  sink  to  the  back  door,  wheeled 
and  strode  back  again.  There  was  an  odd  expres 
sion  on  his  face.  He  frowned,  muttered  to  himself, 
whistled,  smiled,  and  once  broke  into  a  short  laugh. 
But,  as  he  continued  the  pacing,  gradually  the  frown 
and  smile  disappeared  and  his  expression  became 
one  of  grim  determination.  His  lips  closed,  his 
eyes  puckered,  and  his  stride  lengthened.  His  heels 
struck  the  oilcloth  with  sharp,  quick  thumps.  If  one 
of  his  former  shipmates,  a  foremast  hand  on  the 

296 


CAP'N   DAN'S 

schooner  Bluebird,  could  have  seen  him  then,  that 
foremast  hand  would  have  interpreted  his  behavior 
as  a  forerunner  of  trouble.  He  woT1^  have  known 
that  the  "old  man"  was  making  up  hks  mind  to  a 
definite  course  of  action  and  that,  having  i!73de  if 
up,  he  would  keep  to  that  course  so  long  as  he  could 
see  or  breathe. 

And  that  interpretation  would  have  been  correct. 
Captain  Dan  was  desperate.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  fight,  to  "put  his  foot  down"  at  last.  Se 
rena's  ill  health,  Gertrude's  conduct,  the  aggravating 
insolence  of  Cousin  Percy,  all  these  had  helped  to 
spur  him  to  this  pitch.  And  now  came  Azuba's 
open  rebellion  and  her  declaration  that  his  com 
mand  amounted  to  nothing,  that  he  was  not  the 
''boss."  It  was  true,  that  was  the  humiliating  fact 
which  stung.  He  was  not  the  boss,  he  was  not  even 
cabin  boy,  and  he  knew  it.  But,  to  be  openly  told 
so,  and  by  his  cook,  was  a  little  too  much.  The 
worm  will  turn — at  least  we  are  told  that  it  will — 
and  Daniel  Dott  was  turning. 

He  jerked  his  hands  from  his  pockets  and  opened 
his  mouth. 

"Azuba!"  he  roared.     "You,  Zuba,  come  here!" 

Azuba  did  not  answer.  She  was  in  her  room 
at  the  top  of  the  house  and,  of  course,  did  not  hear 
the  shout.  Before  the  captain  could  repeat  it  some 
one  knocked  at  the  back  door. 

The  knock  was  no  hesitating,  irresolute  tap.  It 
was  an  emphatic,  solid  thump.  Daniel  heard  it,  but, 
in  his  present  state  of  mind,  was  in  no  mood  to  heed. 

"Zuba!"  he  repeated.  "Zuba  Ginn,  are  you  corn- 
in'  here  or  shall  I  come  after  you?  Zuba!" 

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CAP'N    IRAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  back  door  ^as  merely  latched,  not  locked. 
Now  it  was  thro^  open>  a  heavy  step  sounded  in 
the  entry  and^a..  Voice,  a  man's  voice,  said,  in  a  shout 
Almost  as  lgud  as  the  captain's,  "Yes,  Zuba;  that's 
what  I  Was  cal'latin'  to  say,  myself.  Who — why, 
hello,  Cap'n  Dan!  How  are  you?" 

Daniel  turned.  A  man  had  entered  the  kitchen, 
a  big  man,  wearing  a  cloth  cap,  and  carrying  in  one 
hand  a  lumpy  oilcloth  valise.  He  tossed  the  valise 
to  the  floor,  grinned,  and  extended  a  hand. 

"Well,  Cap'n  Dan,"  he  observed,  "you  lock  as 
natural  as  life.  /  must  have  changed,  I  cal'late. 
Don't  you  know  me?" 

The  captain's  eyes  were  opening  wider  and  wider. 
"Label"  he  exclaimed;  "Laban  Ginn!  Where  in 
the  world  did  you  come  from?" 

The  person  who  had  so  unceremoniously  entered 
the  kitchen  was  Azuba's  husband,  mate  of  the  tramp 
steamer. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

FOR  the  land  sakesl  Laban  Ginn!"  repeated 
Daniel. 
Mr.  Ginn  grinned  cheerfully.  He  was 
six  feet  tall,  or  thereabouts,  and  more  than  half  as 
wide.  His  hair  and  beard  were  grayish  red  and 
his  face  reddish  brown.  He  was  dressed  in  the  regu 
lation  "shore  togs"  of  a  deep  sea  sailor,  blue  double- 
breasted  jacket,  blue  trousers  and  waistcoat,  white 
"biled"  shirt,  low  collar — celluloid,  by  the  look — 
and  a  "made"  bow  tie  which  hung  from  the  button 
by  a  worn  loop  of  elastic.  His  hands  were  as  red 
as  his  face  and  of  a  size  proportionate  to  the  rest 
of  him.  He  seized  the  captain's  hand  in  one  of  his, 
crushed  it  to  a  pulp,  and  returned  the  remains  to 
the  chief  mourner. 

"Well,  say,"  he  cried,  his  grin  widening,  "that 
feels  natural,  don't  it?  Last  time  you  and  me  shook 
hands  was  over  three  years  ago.  How  are  you? 
Blessed  if  it  ain't  good  to  see  you  again." 

Captain  Dan  was  slowly  regaining  his  equilibrium. 

"Same  to  you,  Labe,"  he  returned  heartily.  "But 
— but,  by  Godfreys,  you're  the  last  person  I  expected 
to  see  just  now." 

"Yep,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"Sit  down,  sit  down.  Humph!  Does  Azuba 
Jknow  you're  comin'  ?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

299 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well,  sit  down  and  I'll  call  her.  She's  here  with 
us,  of  course." 

"Sartin  she  is.  Where  else  would  she  be?  I 
knew  she  was  here;  heard  you  hailin'  her  just  as  I 
made  port  at  the  back  door.  Set  down?"  He  threw 
himself  into  a  chair,  which  groaned  under  the  pres 
sure.  "Sure,  I'll  set  down!  Feels  kind  of  good  to 
drop  anchor  when  you've  been  cruisin's  long  as  I 
have.  No,  Zuby  don't  know  I'm  comin'.  Last  time 
I  wrote  her  was  from  Mauritius.  I've  been  to 
clink  and  gone  since.  She  will  be  surprised,  won't 
she?  Ho!  ho!  Did  I  leave  the  hatch  open?  Here, 
let  me  shut  it." 

But  Daniel  himself  shut  the  "hatch,"  that  is  to 
say,  the  back  door.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  stairs, 
but  Mr.  Ginn  detained  him. 

"Hold  on  a  shake,  Cap'n,"  he  said.  "I  ain't 
hardly  seen  you  yet.  Let's  have  a  look  at  you." 
Crossing  his  legs — his  feet  were  like  miniature 
trunks — he  added,  "How  are  you,  anyway?" 

Daniel  replied  that  he  was  fair  to  middling. 

"Sit  still  and  make  yourself  comfortable,  Labe," 
he  went  on.  "I'll  tell  Zuba  you're  here." 

"What's  your  hurry?  Give  me  a  chance  to  catch 
my  breath.  I  lugged  that  dunnage  bag,"  indicating 
the  valise,  "from  the  depot  up  here,  and  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  strained  every  plank  in  my  hull.  Ought  to  go 
into  dry  dock  and  refit,  I  had.  I  landed  in  Phila- 
delphy  a  week  ago,"  he  continued.  "Quit  the  old 
steamer  for  good,  I  have.  Me  and  the  skipper 
had  some  words  and  I  told  him  where  he  could  go. 
Ho!  ho!  I  don't  know  whether  he  went  or  not; 
anyhow,  I  started  for  Trumet.  Got  there  and  found 

300 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

you'd  come  into  money  and  had  moved  to  Scarford 
and  was  livin'  with  the  big-bugs.  Some  house  you've 
got  here,  ain't  it!  Soon's  I  see  it  I  headed  for  the 
back  door.  'A  first  cabin  companion  like  that's  no 
place  for  me,'  I  says.  Ho!  ho!  Besides,  I  cal'lated 
to  find  Zuby  Jane  out  in  the  fo'castle  here.  Didn't 
expect  to  locate  you,  though,  in  this  end  of  the  ship. 
How's  it  seem  to  be  rich?  Ain't  got  fat  on  it,  have 
you." 

Daniel,  amused  in  spite  of  his  recent  ill  temper, 
shook  his  head. 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered.  "So  you've  been  ashore 
a  week  and  your  wife  doesn't  know  it?  Why  didn't 
you  write  to  her  from  Philadelphia?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Zuby  and  me's  got  an  under- 
standin'  about  that,  and  other  things.  There's  noth- 
in'  like  havin'  a  clear  understandin'  to  make  mar 
ried  folks  get  along  together.  We  write  letters, 
of  course,  but  we  don't  write  very  often.  I'm  li'ble 
to  be  'most  anywheres  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and 
it  makes  me  fidgety  to  think  there's  letters  chasin' 
me  round  and  I  ain't  gettin'  'em.  I  say  to  Zuby, 
'Long's  you  don't  hear  from  me  you'll  know  I'm  all 
right,  and  long's  I  don't  hear  from  you  I'll  know 
the  same.  We'll  write  when  we  feel  like  it.  I'll 
come  home  as  often  as  I  can,  and  when  I  come  I'll 
fetch  you  my  share  of  the  wages.'  That's  our  under 
standin'  and  it's  a  good  one.  We  ain't  had  a  fight 
since  we  was  spliced;  or,  if  we  have,  I  always  stop 
it  right  off — stop  her  part,  I  mean.  Where  is  the 
old  gal,  anyhow?" 

"She's  up  in  her  room,  I  presume  likely." 

"Oh,  is  she?  Well,  she'll  be  down  in  a  jiffy. 
301 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

If  she  ain't  I'll  go  up  and  give  her  a  surprise.11 

"I'll  call  her,  if  you  give  me  a  chance." 

"No,  no,  you  needn't.  No  'special  hurry.  She's 
waited  for  three  years;  cal'late  ten  minutes  more 
won't  hurt  neither  of  us.  Had  your  supper  yet?" 

Daniel  smiled  grimly.     "Not  yet,"  he  replied. 

"Then  she'll  be  down  to  get  it,  of  course.  I  shan't 
stop  her;  I'm  empty  as  a  rum  bottle  four  days  out 
of  port.  You  folks  eat  late,  don't  you?" 

"Sometimes." 

"I  should  think  so.  What's  Zuby  doin'  up  in  her 
room  this  time  of  night?" 

"She  said  she  was  goin'  to  change  her  clothes." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes;  I  see.  Well,  'twon't  take  her  long. 
If  I  went  up  I'd  only  hold  her  back,  and  I  want  my 
supper.  Let's  have  a  smoke,  Dan,  while  we're  wait- 
in'." 

He  patted  one  pocket  after  the  other  and  finally 
located  a  chunky,  battered  pipe,  which  he  proceeded 
to  fill  with  shavings  from  a  black  plug.  Daniel 
watched  him.  A  new  idea  was  dawning  in  his  mind, 
an  idea  which  seemed  to  afford  him  some  pleasurable 
anticipation.  Mr.  Ginn  looked  up  from  his  tobacco 
shaving. 

"Now,  tell  me  about  all  this  money  of  yours," 
he  commanded.  "I  didn't  hear  nothin'  else  at  Tru- 
met;  that  and  your  wife's  gettin'  to  be  commodore 
of  some  woman's  lodge  or  other  was  all  they  talked 
about.  Hey?  Why,  where's  your  pipe?  Ain't  you 
goin'  to  smoke?  I've  got  plenty  terbacker." 

Daniel  looked  dubious.  "I  guess  not,  Labe,"  he 
said.  "Zuba — well,  the  fact  is.  7uba  doesn't  like 
people  to  smoke  in  her  kitchen.' 

302 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Laban's  face  expressed  astonishment.  "She 
don't!"  he  cried.  "She  don't?  How  long  since?" 

"Oh,  almost  ever  since  she  came  here.  It  is  one 
of  her  new  ways." 

"  'Tis,  hey?  Well,  I  like  the  old  ones  better, 
myself.  Never  you  mind  her  ways;  trot  out  your 
pipe  and  light  up.  I " 

He  was  interrupted  by  his  companion,  who  made 
a  flying  jump  toward  the  stove.  The  teakettle  was 
boiling  over. 

"Let  it  bile,"  commented  Mr.  Ginn.  "  'Tain't 
your  funeral,  is  it?  You  ain't  supposed  to  boss  the 
galley.  That's  the  cook's  business,  not  the  skip 
per's." 

But  Daniel  carefully  removed  the  kettle  to  a  place 
of  safety. 

"It's  my  business  to-night,"  he  said.  "I'm  gettin' 
my  own  supper." 

Mr.  Ginn  straightened  in  his  chair. 

"You  be?"  he  exclaimed.  "You  be?  What  for? 
Ain't  there  no  women  folks  in  the  house?  Ain't 
Zuby — why,  you  said " 

"I  know  I  said,  but  what  I  say  don't  seem  to 
amount  to  much.  You  see,  Labe,  your  wife  has  got 
some  of  what  my  wife  calls  advanced  ideas.  She 
belongs  to  some  kind  of  a  lodge  herself,  and  this  is 
their  meetin'  night.  Just  before  you  came  Zuba 
made  proclamations  that  I  could  cook  my  own  sup 
per.  She  said  she  couldn't  stop  to  do  it;  she'd  be 
late  to  the  meetin'  if  she  did." 

Laban's  mouth  opened.  The  pipe  fell  from  it, 
scattering  sparks  like  a  Roman  candle,  and  bounced 
upon  the  spotless  floor  of  the  kitchen.  Daniel  would 

3°3 


I 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  picked  it  up,  but  his  visitor  intervened.  He 
put  one  mammoth  foot  upon  the  sparks  and,  leaning 
forward,  demanded  instant  attention. 

"For  thunder  sakes,  Dan  Dott  I"  he  cried.  "Never 
mind  that  pipe;  let  it  alone.  For  thunder  sakes,  tell 
me  what  you're  talkin'  about?  Zuby — Zuby  Jane 
Ginn  racin'  to  lodges  and  tellin'  you — you — to  cook 
your  own  meals!  Go  on!  You're  loony." 

"Maybe  I  am,  Labe,  but  it's  so." 

"It's  so?  And  you  let  it  be  so?  I  don't  believe 
it.  What  do  you  mean?  How  long  has  it  been  so?" 

Captain  Dan  proceeded  to  tell  of  his  housekeep 
er's  conversion  to  progress  and  advancement.  He 
did  not  suppress  any  of  the  details;  in  fact,  he  mag 
nified  them  just  a  bit. 

"She's  a  free  woman,  so  she  says,  Labe,"  he  said, 
in  conclusion.  "And  a  free  woman  has  a  right  to 
be  free." 

"Is  that  so!  That's  what  she  says,  hey?  And 
you  let  her  say  it?  Why,  you — you "  He  hesi 
tated,  hovering  between  candid  expression  and  the 
respect  due  an  ex-skipper  of  a  three-master. 
"Wh-what  do  you  have  such  goin's  on  in  your  house 
for?"  he  demanded.  "What  makes  you  let  the  gang 
afore  the  mast  run  over  you  this  way?  Why  don't 
you — who's  that  upstairs;  your  wife?" 

"No,  my  wife  is  out.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that 
was  Zuba.  She's  on  her  way  to  the  door,  prob 
ably." 

"She  is,  hey?  Call  her  down  here.  Sing  out  to 
her  to  come  down.  Hi !"  as  the  captain  stepped 
to  the  stairs,  "don't  say  nothin'  about  me." 

Daniel,  suppressing  a  grin,  shouted  up  the  stairs. 
304 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Zuba!"  he  called.  "Zuba,  come  down  here  a 
minute." 

Azuba  answered,  but  in  no  complacent  tone. 
"Don't  bother  me,  Cap'n  Dott,"  she  protested. 
"I'm  late  as  'tis." 

"Just  a  minute,  Zuba,  that's  all.  One  minute, 
please." 

Mr.  Ginn  snorted  at  the  "please."  They  heard 
the  housekeeper  descending.  At  the  bottom  step 
she  sniffed  loudly. 

"I  do  believe  it's  tobacco  smoke!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Cap'n  Dott,  have  you  been  smokin'  in  my  kitchen?" 

She  entered  the  room,  waving  an  indignant  arm. 
She  was  dressed  in  her  Sunday  best,  bonnet  and  all. 

"What!"  she  began,  and  then,  suddenly  aware 
that  her  employer  was  not  alone,  turned  to  stare 
at  his  companion.  "Why!"  she  exclaimed;  "who — 
oh,  my  soul!  Labanf" 

"Hello,  Zuby!"  roared  her  husband,  rising  to 
greet  her.  "How  be  you,  old  gal?" 

Before  she  could  speak  or  move  he  seized  her  in 
his  arms,  squeezed  her  to  him,  and  pressed  a  kiss 
like  the  report  of  a  fire-cracker  upon  her  cheek. 
"How  be  you,  Zuby?"  he  repeated. 

"Oh,  Label"  gasped  Azuba.     "Labe!" 

"I'm  Labe,  all  right.  No  doubt  about  that.  .  .  . 
Well,  why  don't  you  say  somethin'  ?  Ain't  you  glad 
to  see  me?" 

Azuba  looked  as  if  she  did  not  know  whether 
she  was  glad  or  not;  in  fact,  as  if  she  knew  or 
realized  any  little  of  anything. 

"Labe!"  she  said  again.  "Laban  Ginnl  When 
*— where  did  you  come  from?" 

305 


"Oh,  from  all  'round.  Trumet  was  my  last  port 
and  I  made  that  by  way  of  Malagy  and  Philadelphy. 
But  I'm  here,  anyhow,  and  that's  somethin'.  My! 
it's  good  to  see  you.  You  look  as  natural  as  life. 
Set  down  and  let's  look  at  you." 

The  housekeeper  sat  down;  she  appeared  glad  of 
the  opportunity.  Her  husband  faced  her,  grinning 
broadly. 

"Just  as  handsome  as  ever;  hey,  old  lady,"  he 
observed.  "And  look  at  the  duds!  Say,  you're 
rigged  up  fine,  from  truck  to  keelson,  ain't  you, 
Zuby!  Never  seen  you  rigged  finer.  A  body  would 
think  she  knew  I  was  comin',  wouldn't  they,  Cap'n 
Dan?" 

Daniel  did  not  answer,  although  he  seemed  much 
interested  in  the  situation. 

Azuba  drew  a  hand  across  her  forehead. 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  she  declared  emphatically. 
"Indeed,  I  didn't!  Why  didn't  you  write  me,  Laban 
Ginn?" 

"Write !  Write  nothin'  I  I  wanted  to  surprise 
you.  But  there,  there!  Don't  set  around  in  that 
rig  any  longer.  Makes  me  feel  as  if  you'd  come  to 
call  on  the  parson.  Take  off  your  coat  and  bonnet 
and  let's  be  sociable.  And  while  we're  talkin'  you 
turn  to  and  get  supper.  I'm  pretty  nigh  starved  to 
death.  So's  the  cap'n;  he  said  so." 

Mrs.  Ginn  looked  at  Captain  Dan.  There  was  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  Azuba  noticed  that  twinkle. 

"Laban,"  she  stammered,  "I — I — I  can't  stay 
here  and  get  supper  to-night.  I  can't." 

Laban  was  tremendously  surprised — at  least  he 
pretended  to  be. 

306 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Can't!"  he  repeated.  "Can't  stay  here,  when 
I've  just  got  home?" 

"No,  I  can't.  If  I  had  known  you  was  comin' 
'twould  have  been  different.  But  I  didn't  know 
it." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  Zuby,  don't 
make  me  laugh;  I'm  too  hungry  for  jokin'.  Take 
off  your  bonnet,  now;  take  it  off." 

"I  mustn't,  really,  Labe.  It's  lodge  night  and 
they  expect  me.  I " 

"Take  off  your  bonnet!" 

"I  can't!  .  .  .  Well,  I  will,  for  just  a  minute." 
The  last  sentence  was  added  in  a  great  hurry,  for 
her  husband  showed  signs  of  preparing  to  remove 
the  headgear  with  his  own  hands.  She  placed  the 
bonnet  on  the  table  and  fidgeted  in  her  chair,  glanc 
ing  first  at  her  employer  and  then  at  the  clock.  Cap 
tain  Dan  was  smiling  broadly. 

"That's  fine!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ginn.  "Now  you 
look  like  home  folks.  Now  she'll  get  us  some  sup 
per,  won't  she,  Cap'n?" 

Again  Daniel  did  not  answer,  but  his  smile,  as 
Azuba  interpreted  it,  was  provokingly  triumphant. 
Her  lips  closed  tightly. 

"I  can't  get  any  supper  to-night,  Laban,"  she  de 
clared  firmly.  "I  just  can't.  I'm  awful  sorry,  bein' 
as  you've  just  got  home,  but  you'll  have  to  forgive 
me.  I'll  explain  when  you  and  me  are  alone." 

"Explain?     Explain  what?" 

"Why — why — "  with  another  look,  almost  vin 
dictive,  at  the  grinning  captain,  "what  my  reason  is. 
But  I  can't  tell  you  now — I  can't." 

"That's  all  right.     I  don't  care  about  explainin's. 

307 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

You  can  explain  any  old  time;  just  now,  me  and  the 
cap'n  want  our  supper." 

"I  shan't  get  your  supper.  I  told  Cap'n  Dott  I 
couldn't  before  I  went  upstairs.  I'm  goin'  out." 

"No,  no,  you  ain't.  Quit  your  foolin',  old  lady. 
I'm  gettin'  emptier  every  minute.  So  are  you,  ain't 
you,  Cap'n?" 

Daniel  hesitated,  looked  at  his  housekeeper's  face, 
and  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  That  laugh  de 
cided  the  question.  Azuba  rose. 

"Don't  talk  to  me,"  she  snapped.  "I'm  sorry, 
but  it  serves  you  right,  Laban,  for  comin'  home 
without  sendin'  me  word;  and  just  at  the  wrong 
time,  too.  Give  me  that  bonnet." 

She  reached  for  the  bonnet,  but  her  husband 
reached  it  first.  "  'Tain't  much  of  a  bonnet,  any 
how,  Zuby,'v  he  said.  "Now  I  look  at  it  closer  I 
don't  think  it's  becomin'  to  your  style  of  complexion. 
Some  day  I'll  buy  you  another." 

"Give  me  that  bonnet,  Laban  Ginn!" 

"I  don't  like  to  see  that  bonnet  around,  Zuby. 
Let's  get  it  out  of  sight  quick." 

His  wife  sprang  at  the  bonnet,  but  he  barred  her 
off  with  an  arm  like  a  fence-rail,  removed  a  lid  from 
the  stove,  put  the  unbecoming  article  in  on  the  red- 
hot  coals,  and  replaced  the  lid.  "There  I"  he  said, 
"that  helps  the  scenery,  don't  it?  Now  let'?  have  sup 
per." 

Captain  Dan  laughed  again.  For  an  instant 
Azuba  stared,  white-faced,  at  the  cremation  of  the 
bonnet.  Then  she  darted  to  the  door.  "I'll  go 
now,"  she  cried,  "if  I  have  to  go  bareheaded!  I'll 
show  youl  Let  go  of  me!" 

308 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Mr.  Ginn  had  thrown  an  arm  about  her  waist 
She  pulled  his  hair  and  gave  him  some  vigorous 
slaps  on  the  cheek,  but  he  smiled  on.  "You  want 
to  get  supper,  Zuby,"  he  coaxed.  "I  know  you  do. 
You  just  think  it  over  now.  It's  too  noisy  out  here 
to  do  much  thinkin'.  Where's  a  nice  quiet  place? 
Oh!  this'll  be  first  rate." 

He  bore  her,  kicking  like  a  jumping-jack,  across 
the  kitchen  to  the  closet  where  the  pans  and  cooking 
utensils  were  kept.  "Think  it  over  in  there,  Zuby," 
he  said  calmly,  shutting  the  door  and  planting  him 
self  in  a  chair  against  it.  "That's  a  fine  place  to 
think.  Now,  Cap'n,  you  and  me  can  have  our 
smoke,  while  she's  thinkin'  what  to  give  us  to  eat; 
hey?" 

Judging  by  the  thumps  and  kicks  and  screams  in 
side  the  closet  the  housekeeper's  thoughts  were 
otherwise  engaged. 

"You  let  me  out,  Labe  Ginn!"  she  screamed. 
"Cap'n  Dott,  you  make  him  let  me  out!" 

Daniel,  weary  from  laughing,  could  only  gasp. 

"I  can't,  Zuba !"  he  answered,  choking.  "I  can't! 
It  ain't  my  affair.  I  couldn't  interfere  between  hus 
band  and  wife.  You're  a  free  woman,  Zuba,  you 
know.  You  ought  to  be  advanced  enough  by  this 
time  to  fight  your  own  battles." 

"That's  right,  Zuba,"  counseled  Mr.  Ginn. 
"Fight  'em  out  in  there.  You  can  be  just  as  free  in 
there  as  you  want  to.  Have  some  of  my  terbacker, 
Cap'n?" 

Captain  Dan  declined.  The  prisoner  continued 
to  thump  and  kick  and  threaten.  Her  jailer  refilled 
and  lighted  his  pipe. 

309 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Thought  over  that  bill  of  fare,  Zuby?"  he 
jhouted,  after  a  time. 

More  thumps  and  threats;  tears  as  well.  Daniel 
began  to  feel  pity  instead  of  triumph. 

"Hadn't  you  better,  Labe,"  he  began.  Mr.  Ginn 
waved  him  to  silence. 

"How  about  supper,  Zuby?"  he  called.  "Oh,  all 
right,  all  right.  I  don't  know  as  I'm  as  hungry  as 
I  was,  anyway.  Appetite's  kind  of  passin'  off,  I 
cal'late.  You  stay  in  there  and  think  till  mornin', 
and  we'll  have  it  for  breakfast." 

Silence — actual  silence — for  a  moment.  Then 
Azuba  asked,  in  a  half-smothered  but  much  humbler 
voice,  "Oh,  Labe!  won't  you  let  me  out?" 

"Sure  thing — if  you've  thought  up  that  supper 
for  me  and  Cap'n  Dan'l." 

"But  I  did  so  want — oh,  if  I  could  only  tell  you  1 
It  was  so  necessary  for  me  to  go  to  that  meetin'. 
You've  spiled  everything,  and  just  as  'twas  goin'  so 
nice.  What  Gertie'll  say  I  don't  know." 

Daniel  developed  a  new  interest. 

"Gertie?"  he  repeated.  "Hush,  Label  wait  a 
minute.  What's  Gertie  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Nothin',  nothin'.     Oh,  Labe,  please." 

"Well,  I  tell  you,  Zuby:  it's  close  to  nine  now, 
and  that's  too  late  for  you  to  be  cruisin'  out  to  meet- 
in's.  Sorry  you  have  to  miss  the  speeches  and  things, 
but Say,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  If  it's  a  ser 
mon  you  want  I'll  preach  you  one,  myself.  Make 
it  up  while  you're  settin'  the  table.  Ready  to  come 
out  and  be  good?  That's  right.  Now,  I  bet  you 
she's  thought  up  somethin'  that'll  make  our  mouths 
water,  Cap'n." 

310 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

The  crestfallen  housekeeper  emerged,  blinking, 
from  her  thinking  place.  She  removed  her  coat  and, 
without  even  a  glance  at  her  employer,  proceeded 
to  adjust  the  dampers  of  the  stove.  Captain  Dan 
rose  from  his  chair. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  stop  to  have  supper  with  you, 
Labe,"  he  said.  "I've  got  an — an  errand  to  do  out 
side,  myself.  I'll  eat  at  a  restaurant  or  somewhere. 
You'll  stay  here  to-night,  of  course.  I'll  see  you  in 
the  mornin'.  Good-night!  Good-night,  Zuby!" 

Azuba  did  not  reply.  Laban  shouted  protests. 
What  was  the  sense  of  going  just  when  supper  was 
being  made  ready  at  last?  Daniel,  however,  did  not 
stay  to  listen.  He  climbed  the  back  stairs  to  the 
hall,  put  on  his  overcoat  and  hat  and  went  out.  He 
had  been  too  tender-hearted  to  remain  in  the  kitchen* 
and  gloat,  or  appear  to  gloat,  over  a  "free  woman's" 
humiliation.  Nevertheless,  he  astonished  the  waiter 
at  the  restaurant  where  he  ate  dinner  by  bursting 
into  laughter  at  intervals,  and  with  no  obvious  cause. 
The  waiter  suspected  that  the  old  gentleman  from 
the  country  had  been  drinking,  and  the  size  of  the 
tip  he  received  helped  to  confirm  his  suspicion. 

His  dinner  eaten,  Captain  Dan  walked  slowly 
home.  Unlocking  the  front  door  with  his  latchkey 
he  tiptoed  through  the  hall  and  listened  at  the  head 
of  the  back  stairs.  There  was  a  steady  murmur  of 
voices  in  the  kitchen.  He  heard  a  bass  grumble 
from  Mr.  Ginn  and  Azuba's  shrill  reply.  Then  the 
pair  burst  into  a  laugh.  Evidently  some  sort  of 
understanding  on  a  peaceful  basis  had  been  reached. 
Still  chuckling,  the  captain  went  up  to  his  bedroom, 
removed  his  outer  garments  and  his  shoes,  put  on 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

his  bathrobe  and  slippers,  and  settled  himself,  with 
the  evening  paper,  to  await  his  wife's  return.  He 
resolved  to  be  awake  when  she  did  return;  he  had 
news  for  her.  Filled  with  this  resolution,  he  read 
for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  steadily,  then  at  in 
tervals  between  naps,  and  at  last  dropped  into  a 
sound  sleep,  the  paper  in  his  lap. 

Gertrude  and  Serena  came  home  at  a  surprisingly 
early  hour.  Not  that  the  committee  meeting  was 
over;  it  was  not.  In  fact,  the  elaborate  dinner 
spread  before  her  supporters  by  the  grateful  Mrs. 
Black  had  scarcely  reached  its  last  course  when 
Gertrude  suddenly  rose  from  the  table  and  hastened 
to  her  mother's  side.  She  had  been  watching  the 
latter  with  increasing  anxiety  all  the  evening. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  she  asked.    "What  is  it?" 

Serena,  sitting  with  her  elbow  on  the  table,  her 
hand  to  her  forehead,  and  her  untasted  ice  before 
her,  looked  up  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"What — why,  what  do  you  mean,  Gertie?"  she 
stammered.  "What — I  don't  think  I  understood 
you." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mother?"  repeated  Ger 
trude.  "Don't  you  feel  well?" 

Still  Mrs.  Dott  did  not  seem  to  understand.  She 
tried  to  smile,  but  the  vague  uncertainty  of  the  smile 
caused  even  Annette,  who  had  been  deep  in  dis 
cussion  of  a  plan  for  securing  the  vote  of  a  still 
doubtful  member,  to  cease  speaking  and  regard  her 
guest  with  surprise. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  urged  Gertrude.  "You 
look  so  strange.  Are  you  ill?" 

Serena  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment,  rose,  stood 
312 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

looking  about  in  the  same  hesitating,  uncertain  mar* 
ner,  and  then,  throwing  her  arms  about  her  daugh 
ter's  neck,  burst  into  hysterical  sobs. 

The  alarmed  guests  clustered  about  them,  asking 
questions,  exclaiming,  and  offering  suggestions. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Annette.  "My  dear! 
What  is  it?" 

Serena,  still  clinging  to  Gertrude,  continued  to 
sob. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  she  moaned.  "I — I  feel  so 
strange.  I'm — I'm  tired,  I  guess.  I'm — I'm  worn 
out.  I — oh,  Gertie,  take  me  home.  Take  me  home 
— please." 

"Yes,  yes,  Mother,  dear.  We  will  go  home  at 
once.  Come." 

She  led  her  into  the  next  room.  Annette,  hasten 
ing  with  a  glass  of  wine  and  the  smelling  salts, 
caught  the  young  lady's  arm. 

"She  isn't  going  to  be  ill,  seriously  sick,  is  she?" 
she  demanded.  "You  don't  think  she  is.  It  would 
be  dreadful  if  she  was." 

Gertrude  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "I  certainly  hope 
not.  Will  you  call  a  carriage,  Mrs.  Black?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I'll  call  one  right  away.  Oh,  I  hope 
she  isn't  going  to  be  sick.  It  would  be  dreadful — 
just  now.  The  election  is  only  two  weeks  off,  and 
without  her  I — we  should  be  almost  certain  to  lose. 
I  know  we  should.  Oh,  Serena,  dear!  you  won't 
be  sick,  will  you?  for  my  sake!" 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  the  agitated  Annette 
that  her  friend  might  not  care  to  be  ill,  for  her  own 
sake.  But  it  was  evident  that  Gertrude  was  think- 

313 


CAPN    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

ing  just  that.  The  young  lady's  tone  was  sharp  and 
decidedly  cold. 

"She  is  tired  out,"  she  said.  "She  has  worn 
herself  out  working  for  her — for  her  friends,  Mrs. 
Black.  Will  you  call  the  carriage?" 

"Yes,  yes.  They  are  calling  it  now.  I'm  so  sorry 
the  chauffeur — or — or  Phelps — is  out.  If  he — if 
they  were  not  you  could  use  our  car.  But,  oh,  Se 
rena " 

Serena  looked  up.  She  was  calmer  now,  she  had 
heard,  and  loyally  she  answered. 

"Don't  worry,  Annette,"  she  said.  "I  am  not 
going  to  be  sick.  I  won't.  You  can  depend  on  me. 
Oh,  Gertie,  I'm  so  tired!  My  poor  head!" 

The-  carriage  came  and  she  and  Gertrude  were 
driven  home.  Annette  did  not  offer  to  accompany 
them.  It  was  such  an  important  meeting  and  there 
were  so  many  things  to  talk  about,  she  explained. 
She  would  call  the  very  next  day.  Serena  thanked 
her;  Gertrude  said  nothing. 

Serena  seemed  better  on  the  wray  home.  When 
they  reached  the  house  she  announced  bravely  that 
she  was  all  right  again;  all  she  needed  was  a  night's 
rest,  that  was  all.  Gertrude  insisted  on  accompany 
ing  her  to  her  room.  They  found  Daniel  asleep  in 
the  chair,  and  to  him  his  daughter  explained  the  situ 
ation.  The  captain  was  too  greatly  disturbed  to 
think  of  his  "news,"  the  news  of  Mr.  Ginn's  arrival 
and  Azuba's  subjection. 

"You  get  right  into  bed,  Serena,"  he  ordered. 
"Gertie,  you  call  the  doctor." 

But  his  wife  would  not  hear  of  the  doctor.  "Non 
sense  I"  she  declared.  "I  don't  need  any  doctor. 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

I  want  to  go  to  bed.  I'm  tired — tired.  I  won't  see 
the  doctor  or  anybody  else.  Go,  Gertie,  please  go. 
Your  father  will  be  with  me.  Please  go!  I  am 
all  right  now." 

Gertrude  went,  but  she  whispered  to  the  captain 
that  she  would  wait  in  the  library  and,  if  they  needed 
her,  he  was  to  be  sure  and  call. 

In  the  library  she  took  a  book — one  of  Aunt 
Lavinia's  legacies — from  the  shelf  and  tried  to  read, 
but  that  was  impossible.  She  could  not  read,  she 
could  only  think,  and  thinking  was  most  unpleasant. 
Her  conscience  was  troubling  her.  Had  she  been 
wrong?  Had  she  gone  too  far?  She  had  meant 
tvell,  her  plan  had  seemed  the  only  solution  of  the 
family  problem,  but  perhaps  she  had  made  a  mis 
take.  She  loved  her  mother  devotedly.  Oh,  if  any 
thing  serious  should  happen — if,  because  of  her,  her 
mother  should  be  ill — if — if  she  should.  She  could 
not  think  of  it.  She  would  never  forgive  herself, 
never.  It  had  been  all  wrong  from  the  beginning, 
and  she  had  been  wicked  and  foolish.  It  had  cost 
her  so  much  already;  her  own  life's  happiness. 
And  yet — and  yet,  she  had  meant  to  do  right.  But 
now,  after  that  misunderstanding  and  consequent 
sacrifice,  if  her  mother  should 

She  broke  down  and  was  very,  very  miserable. 

Someone  was  at  the  front  door,  fumbling  with  a 
latchkey.  Gertrude  hurriedly  sprang  from  her  chair, 
wiped  her  eyes  Y/ith  her  handkerchief  and  was  on 
her  way  to  the  hall  when  the  door  opened.  The 
hall  was  dark;  she  had  turned  off  the  light  when  she 
came  downstairs;  and  for  a  moment  she  could  not 
see  who  it  was  that  had  entered.  She,  however,  was 

315 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

in  the  full  glow  from  the  electrolier  in  the  library 
and  Mr.  Hungerford  saw  her. 

"Ah,  Gertrude,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Is  that 
you?  Don't  go.  Don't  go." 

He  was  at  the  doorway  before  she  could  reach 
it.  He  had  been  dining  out  with  some  masculine 
friends — "old  college  chums,"  he  had  explained 
when  announcing  the  situation — and  was  in  evening 
dress. 

"Don't  go,"  he  repeated.  "What's  the  hurry? 
Wait  a  minute  and  I'll  join  you." 

He  removed  his  overcoat  and  silk  hat  and  tossed 
them  carelessly  upon  the  hall  table.  The  hat  fell 
to  the  floor,  but  he  did  not  heed  it.  Then  he  entered 
the  library. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Alone?  Burning  the 
midnight  oil  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Where  is 
old — er — where's  your  father?" 

Gertrude  replied  that  her  father  had  retired.  She 
was  about  to  do  so,  she  added.  It  was  untrue,  but 
she  was  not  in  the  mood  for  a  conversation  with 
anyone,  least  of  all  with  Cousin  Percy. 

Cousin  Percy,  however,  appeared  decidedly  con 
versational.  His  face  was  a  trifle  flushed  and  he 
smiled  more  than  seemed  necessary. 

"Well,"  he  observed,  "this  is  an  unexpected  pleas 
ure.  Didn't  expect  to  find  anyone  up  at  this 
hour." 

Gertrude  curtly  remarked  that  it  was  not  late. 

"I  didn't  mean  up,  I  meant  in.  Did  I  say  'up'? 
Most  extraordinary.  I  thought  you  and  Mrs.  Dott 
were  playing  the  political  game  this  evening.  Ex 
pected  to  find  you  out  and  old — the  respected  cap- 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

tain,  I  mean — in  the  arms  of — what's  his  name?—* 
Morpheus.  That's  all  right,  though;  that's  all  right. 
So  much  the  better.  We  can  talk — you  and  I." 

"I  don't  feel  like  talking.    You  must  excuse  me." 

"What?  Don't  feel  like  talking?  Cruel!  Why 
not?  It  isn't  late;  you  said  so  yourself." 

"I  know  but — really,  you  must  excuse  me." 

She  was  moving  toward  the  door,  but  again  he 
stepped  in  her  way. 

"Now,  Gertie,"  he  said.  Then  he  broke  into  a 
laugh.  "Called  you  Gertie,  didn't  I?"  he  said. 
"Beg  pardon.  Quite  unintentional.  It  slipped  out 
before  I  thought.  But  you  don't  mind,  do  you?  It's 
a  pretty  name.  Just  a  little  bit  less  formal  than 
Gertrude,  eh?  Don't  you  think  so — Gertie?" 

Gertrude  hesitated.  She  was  humiliated  and  an 
gry,  but  she  did  not  wish  a  scene.  Her  parents 
might  hear  and  her  mother  must  on  no  account  be 
disturbed. 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  she  answered. 

"Then  you  don't  mind?" 

"No.  Now,  Percy,  you  must  excuse  me.  Good 
night!" 

"Wait!  Wait!  Gertie,  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you.  Been  wanting  to  say  it  for  a  long  time, 
but  haven't  had  the  opportunity.  You  have  kept  out 
of  my  way.  Ha  !  ha  !  you  know  you  have.  Perhaps 
you  guessed  I  wanted  to  say  it.  Was  that  it?  Ha  I 
ha!  was  it  now?  Confess;  was  it?" 

Gertrude  did  not  answer.  She  moved  toward  the 
door.  Mr.  Hungerford  laughingly  blocked  the 
passage. 

"No,   no!"  he  cried.      "No,   no!      Mustn't  run 

317 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

away.  I  am  going  to  say  it,  and  you  must  hear  me* 
Come,  don't  be  cross." 

"Mr.  Hungerford,  will  you  stand  aside?  I  can 
not  talk  with  you  to-night,  or  listen.  I  am  going 
to  my  room." 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered  should  have 
been  a  warning,  but  Cousin  Percy  was  in  no  condi 
tion  to  recognize  warnings,  or  to  heed  them  if  he 
had.  His  smile  grew  more  tender  and  his  tone  more 
intimate. 

"Not  yet,"  he  smiled;  "not  just  yet.  I  can't  per 
mit  it.  Gertie,  I " 

"If  you  don't  stand  aside  I  shall  call  my  father." 

"What?  Call  the  old  gentleman?  No,  you  don't 
mean  it.  Of  course  you  don't.  You  wouldn't  be 
so  unreasonable.  Come,  come !  we're  friends  at 
least.  We  understand  each  other,  don't  we?" 

"I  understand  you,  thoroughly." 

"Of  course  you  do,"  with  a  triumphant  leer. 
"And  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  say.  Ah  ha  I 
I  was  sure  you  did.  And  you've  confessed.  Gertie, 

my  dearest  girl,  I What!  Going?  Not  until 

you  pay  toll.  I'm  keeper  of  the  gate  and  you  must 
pay  before  you  pass,  you  know.  If  you  won't  listen 
you  must  pay.  Ha!  ha!" 

He  held  out  his  hands.  Gertrude  shrank  back. 
She  was  not  afraid  of  him,  but  she  did  fear  a  scene. 
She  had  threatened  to  call  her  father,  but  she  could 
not  do  that.  If  she  did  her  mother  would  be  fright 
ened.  She  moved  away,  to  the  other  side  of  the 
library  table. 

Cousin  Percy  interpreted  her  retreat  as  a  sign 
of  surrender.  He  followed  her,  laughing. 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Cornel"  he  insisted.  "I  knew  you  didn't  mean 
it.  Come,  my  dear!  Just  one.  I " 

He  tripped  over  the  captain's  favorite  footstool 
and  fell  to  his  knees.  With  a  sudden  movement 
Gertrude  jerked  the  cord  of  the  electrolier  on  the 
table.  The  lights  went  out.  She  dodged  around 
the  table,  through  the  doorway,  into  the  hall,  and  up 
the  stairs.  Mr.  Hungerford,  pawing  in  the  dark 
ness  at  the  offending  footstool,  swore.  Then  he 
laughed. 

"Good  I"  he  exclaimed.  "Very  good,  but  not  good 
enough.  You  can't  escape  that  way.  I  shall  find 
you.  Where  are  you  hiding?  Eh!  Ah,  there  you 
are!" 

He  had  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  hurried  to  the 
doorway.  There  were  the  sounds  of  footsteps  and 
the  rustle  of  skirts  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 

"There  you  are!"  he  cried.  "I've  caught  you. 
Now  you  must  pay — twice." 

He  put  his  arm  about  a  feminine  waist  and  im 
printed  a  kiss  upon  a  feminine  cheek.  Then  his  own 
cheek  received  a  slap  which  made  his  head  ring, 
and  the  hall  echoed  with  a  shrill  scream. 

"Labe!"  shrieked  Azuba.  "Oh,  Labe!  Help! 
Come  quick!" 

Mr.  Jjinn  came  up  the  back  stairs  three  steps  at 
a  time. 

"What  is  it?  What's  the  matter,  Zuby?"  he  de 
manded. 

"A  man!     A  man!     He— he " 

"Where  is  he?     What's  he  doin'?" 

"He— there  he  is.     Hear  him?    There!" 

Mr.   Hungerford,   paralyzed  with  astonishment 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

and  dizzy  from  the  slap,  had  moved,  injudiciously. 
Laban  heard  him. 

"Hey?"  he  bellowed.  "Ah  I  I've  got  him.  Stand 
still,  dum  youl  I've  got  him,  Zuby.  Who  is  he? 
What  did  he  do?" 

"I — I  don't  know  who  he  is,"  panted  the  fright 
ened  housekeeper.  "He — he  kissed  me." 

"Kissed  youl     You?    Why " 

"It's  a  mistake!"  cried  Cousin  Percy,  frantically 

struggling  in  the  grasp  of  his  captor.    "I Stop ! 

Stop!     Help!     Help!" 

The  hall  became  a  pandemonium  of  thumps, 
struggles,  cries  for  help,  and  pleas  for  mercy.  Azuba 
added  her  shrieks  to  the  tumult.  From  above  Cap 
tain  Dan  shouted  and  Serena  screamed.  Then  the 
chandelier  blazed.  Gertrude  had  pressed  the  button 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"Let  him  be !"  ordered  the  young  lady,  rushing 
to  the  rescue.  "Don't!  don't!  Azuba,  stop  him!" 

"Label  stop!  stop!"  pleaded  the  housekeeper. 
"You My  soul!  it's  Mr.  Hungerford." 

It  was  what  there  was  left  of  Mr.  Hungerford. 
Mr.  Ginn  extended  the  disheveled,  whimpering 
remnant  at  arm's  length  and  regarded  it. 

"Humph!"  he  grunted.  "You  know  him,  do 
you?" 

"Know  him!  Of  course  I  do.  But — but  I  must 
say " 

Captain  Dan  came  tearing  down  the  stairs,  his 
bathrobe  fluttering  and  a  slipper  missing.  In  one 
hand  he  held  a  pair  of  scissors,  the  only  offensive 
weapon  which  he  had  found  available  at  the  mo 
ment. 

320 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"What  in  blazes?"  he  demanded.  "Burglars,  is 
it?" 

Gertrude  answered.  "No,  Daddy,"  she  said 
gravely.  "It's  no  one  but  Cousin  Percy.  And — 
and  Mr.  Ginn.  Why,  Mr.  Ginn,  is — is  it  you?" 

Laban  nodded.  "It's  me,  all  right,"  he  observed 
grimly.  "Who  the  devil  is  this?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

Daniel  turned  to  the  captive. 

"Why— why,  Percy!"  he  gasped.  "What— 
what's  happened  to  you?  Let  go  of  him,  Labe 
Ginn!  Percy  Hungerford,  what — what's  all 
this?" 

Mr.  Hungerford,  suddenly  freed  from  the  grasp 
upon  his  torn  shirt  collar,  staggered  against  the 
wall. 

"It's — it's  a  mistake,"  he  panted.  "I — I — this — 
this  blackguard  assaulted  me.  I — I " 

"Assaulted  you!  I  should  say  he  had.  Labe 
Ginn,  what  did  you  assault  him  for?" 

Mr.  Ginn  glared  at  his  victim. 

"Blackguard,  am  I?"  he  growled.  "Humph! 
Well,  if  he  starts  to  cailin'  me  names,  I'll " 

"Belay !  Answer  me !  What  have  you  been  doin' 
to  him?  Look  at  him!  What  do  you  mean  by  as- 
saultin'  him  that  way?" 

"What  do  I  mean?  When  a  man  comes  home 
from  sea  and  finds  another  man  kissin'  his  wife,  what 
would  he  be  likely  to  mean?" 

Daniel  could  not  answer.  He  looked  about  him 
in  absolute  bewilderment.  Gertrude  choked  and 
turned  away. 

"Kissin' !"  repeated  Captain  Dan.  "Kissin'  your 
321 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

wife?  Kissin'  Zuba!  I — I — am  I  crazy,  or  arc 
you,  or — or  is  he?" 

Apparently  he  judged  the  last  surmise  to  be  the 
most  likely.  Cousin  Percy,  frantic  with  rage  and 
humiliation,  tried  to  protest. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  cried.     "It's  a  lie!" 

The  captain  turned  to  his  housekeeper. 

"Zuba,"  he  demanded,  "what  sort  of  lunatic  busi 
ness  is  this?  Do  you  know?" 

Azuba  straightened. 

"I  don't  know  much,"  she  announced  sharply. 
"All  I  know  is  that  I  come  upstairs  in  the  dark  and 
he  grabbed  me  and — and  said  somethin'  about  my 
payin'  him — and  then  he — he — done  the  other  thing. 
That's  all  I  know,  and  it's  enough.  Don't  talk  to 
me!  I  never  was  so  surprised  and  mortified  in  my 
life." 

"But — but  what's  it  mean?  Can't  anybody  tell 
me,  for  the  Lord  sakes?" 

Gertrude  stepped  forward.  "I  think  I  under 
stand,"  she  said.  "Our  cousin  made  a  mistake, 
that's  all.  I  will  explain  at  another  time,  Daddy. 
If — if  you  will  all  go  away,  he  and  I  will  have  an 
interview.  I  think  I  can  settle  it  better  than  anyone 
else.  Go,  please.  I'm  sure  Mother  needs  you." 

The  mention  of  his  wife  caused  her  father  to  for 
get  everything  else,  even  his  overwhelming  curiosity. 

"My  soul!"  he  cried.  "She  heard  this;  and — 
and  I  left  her  all  alone." 

He  bolted  up  the  stairs.  Gertrude's  next  remark 
was  addressed  to  the  housekeeper. 

"Azuba,"  she  said,  "would  you  and  your  husband 
mind  leaving  us?  Perhaps  you'd  better  not  go  to 

322 


CAP'N   DAN^S   DAUGHTER 

bed.  I — I  may  need  Mr.  Ginn  later  on;  perhaps 
I  may.  But  if  you  and  he  were  to  go  down  to  the 
kitchen  and  wait  just  a  few  moments  I  should  be  so 
much  obliged.  Will  you?" 

Azuba  hesitated. 

"Leave  you?"  she  repeated.    "With — with  him?" 

"Yes.  I  have  something  to  say  to  him.  Some 
thing  important." 

She  and  Azuba  exchanged  looks.  The  latter 
nodded. 

"All  right,"  she  said  decisively;  "course  we'll  go. 
Come,  Labe." 

But  Laban  seemed  loath  to  move. 

"I  ain't  got  through  with  him  yet,"  he  observed. 
"I'd  only  begun." 

"You  come  with  me.  Have  you  forgot  all  I  told 
you  so  soon?  Come!" 

"Hey?  No;  no,  I  ain't  forgot.  Is  this  part  of 
it?" 

"Part  of  it's  part  of  it:  the  rest  ain't.  You  come, 
'fore  you  do  any  more  spilin'.  Come,  now." 

Mr.  Ginn  went.  At  the  head  of  the  back  stairs 
he  paused. 

"You'll  sing  out  if  you  need  me?"  he  asked.  "You 
will,  won't  you?  You'll  only  have  to  sing  once." 

He  tramped  heavily  down.  Gertrude  walked  over 
to  the  victim  of  the  "mistake"  and  its  conse 
quences. 

"I  think,"  she  said  coldly,  "that  you  had  better 

go-" 

"Go?"  Mr.  Hungerford  looked  at  her.  "Go?" 
he  repeated. 

"Yes.     I  give  you  this  opportunity.     There  will 

323 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

not  be  another.  Go  to  your  room,  change  your 
clothes,  pack  your  trunk,  and  go — now,  to-night." 

"What  do  you  mean?  That  I  am  to  go — and 
not  come  back?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  Gertrude— Gertie " 

"Don't  call  me  that.  Don't  dare  to  speak  to  me 
in  that  tone.  Go — now." 

"But,  Ger — Miss  Dott,  I — I — don't  you  see  it 
was  all  a  mistake?  I " 

"Stop !  I  am  trying  very  hard  to  keep  my  temper. 
We  have  had  scenes  enough  to-night.  My  mother 
is  ill  and  she  must  not  be  disturbed  again.  If  you 
do  not  go  to  your  room  and  pack  and  leave  at  once, 
I  shall  call  Mr.  Ginn  and  have  you  put  out,  just  as 
you  are.  I  am  giving  you  that  opportunity.  You 
had  better  avail  yourself  of  it.  I  mean  what  I  say." 

She  looked  as  if  she  did.  Cousin  Percy  evidently 
thought  so.  His  humbleness  disappeared. 

"So?"  he  snarled  angrily.  "So  that's  it,  eh? 
What  do  you  think  I  am?" 

Gertrude's  eyes  flashed.  She  bit  her  lip.  When 
she  spoke  it  was  with  deliberate  distinctness.  Every 
word  was  as  sharp  and  cold  as  an  icicle. 

"Do  you  wish  to  know  what  I  think  you  are?" 
she  asked.  "What  I  thought  at  the  very  beginning 
you  were,  and  what  I  have  been  taking  pains  to 
make  sure  of  ever  since  I  came  to  this  house?  Very 
well,  I'll  tell  you." 

She  told  him,  slowly,  calmly,  and  with  biting  ex 
actness.  His  face  was  flushed  when  she  began;  when 
she  finished  it  was  white. 

"That  is  what  you  are,"  she  said.     "I  do  not 

324 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

merely  think  so.  I  have  studied  you  carefully;  I 
have  stooped  to  associate  with  you  in  order  to  study 
you;  I  have  studied  you  through  your  friends;  I 
know  what  you  are." 

His  anger  and  mortification  were  choking  him. 

"You — you — "  he  snarled.  "So  that  is  it,  is  it? 
You  have  been  using  me  as  a  good  thing.  As  a — 
as  a " 

"As  you  have  used  my  father  and  mother  and 
their  simple-minded  goodness  and  generosity.  Yes, 
I  have." 

"You  have  been  making  a  fool  of  me !  And  Hoi- 
way — confound  him " 

"Mr.  Holway  was  useful.  He  helped.  And  he, 
too,  understands,  now." 

"By— by  gad— I— I  won't  go.     I'll " 

Gertrude  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

"Mr.  Ginn!"  she  called,  "will  you  come,  please?" 

Laban  came.    He  looked  happy  and  expectant. 

"Here  I  be,"  he  observed  eagerly. 

"Mr.  Ginn,"  said  Gertrude,  "this — gentleman — 
Is  going  to  his  room  for  a  few  minutes.  He  is  pre 
paring  to  leave  us.  If  he  doesn't  come  down  and 
leave  this  house  in  a  reasonable  time  will  you  kindly 
assist  him?  He  will,  no  doubt,  send  for  his  trunks 
tc-morrow.  But  he  must  go  to-night.  He  must. 
Do  you  understand,  Mr.  Ginn?" 

Laban  grinned.  "I  cal'late  I  do,"  he  said. 
"Zuba's  been  tellin'  me  some.  He'll  go." 

"Thank  you.     Good-night!" 

She  ascended  the  stairs.  The  first  mate  looked 
at  his  watch. 

"Fifteen  minutes  is  enough  to  pack  any  trunk," 

325 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

he  observed.  "I'll  give  you  that  much.  Now,  then, 
tumble  up.  Lively!" 

At  the  door  of  her  parents'  room  Gertrude  rapped 
softly.  Captain  Dan  opened  it  and  showed  a  pallid, 
agitated  face. 

"She's  mighty  sick,  Gertie,"  he  declared.  "I  wish 
you'd  telephone  for  the  doctor." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  doctor  came,  stayed  for  some  time  and, 
after  administering  a  sleeping  draught  and 
ordering  absolute  quiet  for  his  patient,  de 
parted,  saying  that  he  would  come  again  in  the 
morning.  He  did  so  and,  before  leaving,  took  Cap 
tain  Dan  and  Gertrude  into  his  confidence. 

"It  is  a  complete  collapse,"  he  said  gravely.  "Mrs. 
Dott  is  worn  out,  physically  and  mentally.  She  must 
be  kept  quiet,  she  must  not  worry  about  anything, 
she  must  remain  in  bed,  and  she  must  see  no  one. 
If  she  does  this,  if  she  rests — really  rests — we  may 
fight  off  nervous  prostration.  If  she  does  not — any 
thing  may  happen.  With  your  permission  I  shall 
send  a  nurse." 

The  permission  was  given,  of  course,  and  the 
nurse  came.  She  was  a  quiet,  pleasant,  capable  per 
son,  and  Daniel  and  Gertrude  liked  her.  She  took 
charge  of  the  sick  room.  Azuba — the  common 
sense,  adequate,  domestic  Azuba  of  old,  not  the 
rampant  "free  woman"  'of  recent  days — was  in 
charge  of  the  kitchen.  Her  husband  remained,  at 
Daniel's  earnest  request,  but  he  spent  his  time  be 
low  stairs. 

"Sartin  sure  I  won't  be  in  the  way,  Cap'n,  be 
you?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "I  can  go  somewheres 
else  just  as  well  as  not,  to  some  boardin'  house  or 

327 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

somewheres.  Zuby  Jane  won't  mind;  we  can  see 
each  other  every  day." 

"Not  a  mite  of  it,  Labe,"  replied  Daniel  earnestly. 
"There's  plenty  of  room  and  you  can  stay  here  along 
with  your  wife  just  as  well  as  not.  I'd  like  to  have 
you.  Maybe — "  with  a  suggestive  wink,  "maybe 
you  can  kind  of — well,  kind  of  keep  things  runnin' 
smooth — in  the  galley.  You  know  what  I  mean." 

Laban  grinned.  "Cal'late  you  won't  have  no 
more  trouble  that  way,  Cap'n,"  he  observed.  "I 
guess  that's  over.  Zuby  and  I  understand  each  other 
better'n  we  did.  I  thought  she  was  mighty " 

"Mighty  what?"  Mr.  Ginn  had  broken  off  his 
sentence  in  the  middle. 

"Oh,  nothin'.  It's  all  right,  Cap'n  Dott.  Don't 
you  worry  about  Zuby  and  me.  We'll  boss  this  end 
of  the  craft;  you  'tend  to  the  rest  of  it.  Say,  that 
Hungerford  swab  ain't  come  back,  has  he?" 

"No.  No,  he  hasn't.  He's  gone  for  good,  it 
looks  like.  Sent  for  his  trunk  and  gone.  That's 
queer,  too.  No,  he  hasn't  come  back." 

Laban  seemed  disappointed.  "Well,  all  right," 
he  said.  "If  he  should  come,  just  send  for  me.  I'd 
just  as  soon  talk  to  him  as  not — rather,  if  any 
thing." 

The  captain  shook  his  head  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"That  business  of — of  him  and  Zuba  was  the 
strangest  thing,"  he  declared.  "I  can't  make  head 
nor  tail  of  it,  and  Gertie  won't  talk  about  it  at  all. 
He  said  'twas  a  mistake,  and  of  course  it  must  have 
been.  Either  that  or  he'd  gone  crazy.  No  sane 
man  would " 

"What's  that?"  It  was  Mr.  Ginn's  turn  to  ques- 
328 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

tion,  and  Daniel's  to  look  foolish.  "What's  that 
no  sane  man  would  do?"  demanded  Laban 
sharply. 

"Why — why,  go  away  and  leave  us  without  sayin' 
good-by,"  explained  the  captain,  with  surprising 
presence  of  mind.  "Er — well,  so  long,  Laban. 
Make  yourself  at  home.  I've  got  to  see  how  Se 
rena  is." 

He  hurried  up  the  back  stairs.  Mr.  Ginn,  who 
seemed  a  trifle  suspicious,  called  after  him,  but  the 
call  was  unheeded. 

At  the  door  of  his  wife's  room — his  room  no 
longer — Captain  Dan  rapped  softly.  The  nurse 
opened  the  door. 

"How  is  she?"  he  whispered. 

"She  is  asleep  now,"  whispered  the  nurse  in  reply. 
"You  must  not  come  in." 

"I  wasn't  goin'  to.  But — but — has  she  been  ask- 
in'  for  me?" 

•"Yes.  I  told  her  you  were  out.  If  she  wakes  and 
asks  for  you  I  will  call.  You  may  see  her  then  for 
a  minute  or  two.  She  is  easier  when  you  are  with 
her — or  near  by." 

This  was  true.  The  one  person  Serena  wished 
to  see  most  of  all  was  her  husband.  She  asked 
for  Gertrude,  of  course,  but  it  was  Daniel  for  whom 
she  asked  continually.  If  he  were  near  her  she 
seemed  almost  happy  and  contented.  It  was  when 
he  sat  beside  the  bed  that  she  ceased  tossing  upon 
the  pillow  and  lay  quiet,  looking  at  him. 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Daniel,"  she  whispered,  on 
one  of  these  occasions.  "A  dear,  good,  unselfish 
man." 

329 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"No,  no,  I  ain't  any  such  thing,"  protested  the 
captain  hastily. 

"But  you  are.  And — and  what  should  I  do  with 
out  you  now?" 

"Sh-sh  I  I'm  not  much  help.  Land  knows  I  wish 
I  was  more." 

"You  are  the  help;  all  the  help  I  have.  Gertie — 
Daniel,  you  will  keep  an  eye  on  Gertie,  won't  you. 
You  won't  let  her  do  anything  foolish." 

"Who?  Gertie?  She  won't  do  foolish  things. 
She  ain't  that  kind." 

"I  know,  but  she  has  changed  so.  It  worries  me. 
Percy " 

"Now  don't  you  worry  about  Percy.  He  isn't 
here  now." 

"Not  here?    Where  is  he?" 

"I  don't  know.  He's  gone  away — for  a  spell, 
anyhow.  Maybe  that  vacation  he  used  to  talk  about 
is  over.  I  guess  that's  it." 

Serena  was  too  weak  to  ask  further  questions, 
even  concerning  so  surprising  a  matter  as  Cousin 
Percy's  sudden  departure.  But  she  did  make  one 
further  plea. 

"Daniel,"  she  begged,  "if  Annette  calls  about  the 
Chapter  you  tell  her " 

"I've  told  her.  She  understands.  She  says  it's 
all  right." 

"Does  she?  I'm  so  glad.  Oh,  Daniel,  you'll  have 
to  take  charge  of  everything  now.  I  can't,  and 
Gertrude — you  must  do  it,  yourself,  Daniel.  You 
must.  Of  Azuba  and  Gertie  and  everything.  I  rely 
on  you.  You  will,  won't  you,  Daniel?" 

"Sure  I  will.  I'm  skipper  now,  Serena.  You 
330 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

ought  to  see  how  the  hands  jump  when  I  give  an 
order." 

It  was  true,  too;  the  hands  did  "jump"  at  the 
captain's  orders.  He  was  skipper,  for  the  time 
being.  His  wife's  illness,  Mr.  Hungerford's  ab 
sence,  Gertrude's  meekness — she  was  a  silent  and 
conscience-stricken  young  lady — all  combined  to 
strengthen  Daniel's  resolution,  and  he  was,  for  the 
first  time  in  years,  the  actual  head  of  the  house 
hold.  He  took  active  charge  of  the  bills  and  finan 
cial  affairs,  he  commanded  Azuba  to  do  this  and 
that,  he  saw  the  callers  who  came  and  he  sent  them 
to  the  rightabout  in  a  hurry. 

His  statement  concerning  Mrs.  Black  was  not  the 
literal  truth.  Annette  had  called,  that  was  true; 
she  had  called  the  very  next  morning  after  her  chief 
aide  was  stricken.  But  she  had  not  declared  that 
everything  was  "all  right" ;  far  from  it. 

"But  can't  I  see  her,  Captain  Dott?"  she  begged. 
"I  must  see  her  for  just  a  minute." 

"Sorry,  ma'am,  but  you  can't  do  it.  Doctor's 
orders.  She  mustn't  be  disturbed."  . 

"But  I've  got  to  see  her.     I  must  talk  with  her." 

"I  know,  but  I'm  afraid  you  can't.  You  can  talk 
to  me,  if  that  will  do  any  good." 

"It  won't.  Of  course  it  won't.  Where  is  Ger 
trude?  Let  me  talk  to  her." 

Daniel  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  daughter's  room. 
He  found  her  sitting  at  her  desk;  she  had  been  writ 
ing  "regrets"  in  answer  to  various  invitations.  She 
turned  a  careworn  face  in  his  direction. 

"What  is  it,  Daddy?"  she  asked.  "Mother  is  not 
worse,  is  she?" 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"No,  no;  she's  better,  if  anything.  But  that — er 
— Annette  Black  has  come  and,  long  as  she  can't 
see  Serena,  she  wants  to  talk  to  you." 

"About  her  precious  politics,  I  suppose." 

"Your  supposin'  is  as  nigh  right  as  anything 
mortal  can  be,  Gertie.  That's  what  she  wants." 

"I  can't  see  her.  I  don't  want  to  see  her.  I  don't 
want  to  hear  the  word  politics.  I " 

"That's  enough,  that's  enough.  I'll  'tend  to  her. 
You  stay  right  here." 

He  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  where  An 
nette  was  fidgeting  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  and  an 
nounced  calmly  that  Gertrude  was  not  at  home. 

The  caller's  agitation  got  the  better  of  her 
temper. 

"Nonsense!"  she  snapped.  "I  don't  believe  it. 
How  do  you  know  she  isn't?" 

"Because  she  said  so.  Lovely  mornin'  for  a  walk, 
isn't  it?" 

Mrs.  Black  rose  and  stalked  to  the  threshold.  But 
there  she  turned  once  more. 

"If  your  wife  knew,"  she  cried  hysterically,  "how 
I,  her  best  friend,  was  treated  in  her  house,  she — 
she •" 

Daniel  stepped  forward.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mrs.  Black,"  he  said.  "Maybe  I  have  been  pretty 
plain  spoken.  I'm  sorry  if  I've  hurt  your  feelin's. 
But,  you  see,  we're  all  upset  here.  I'm  upset,  and 
Gertie's  as  much  so  as  the  rest.  She  can't  talk  to 
you,  or  anybody  else,  now.  I'm  willin'  to  try,  but 
you  say  my  talkin'  won't  do  any  good." 

"Of  course  it  won't.  Oh,  don't  you  see?  I'm 
sorry  Serena  is  not  well,  but  this  is  important." 

332 


CAFN    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  know,  but  so's  her  health,  'cordin'  to  my  think- 
in'." 

"If  I  might  see  her  just  a  moment.  It  is  so  pro 
voking.  Just  at  this  critical  time!  Doesn't  my — 
her  election  mean  anything  to  you?  Don't  you  care 
about  the  cause?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head.  "All  I'm  carin'  for 
is  my  wife,  just  now,"  he  said.  "She's  all  I  can 
think  about.  If  some  of  us  had  thought  more  about 

her,  maybe "  He  stopped,  cleared  his  throat, 

and  added:  "I  know  you'll  understand  and  forgive 
us,  when  you  think  it  over.  I'll  tell  her  you  called. 
Good-morninV 

If  he  supposed  this  was  the  end,  he  was  mistaken. 
Annette  was  not  so  easily  whipped  or  discouraged. 
She  called  again  that  afternoon,  and  again  the  next 
day.  Each  morning  for  a  week  she  came,  and,  be 
tween  times,  other  adherents  of  the  Black-Dott  party 
called.  They  all  asked  concerning  the  invalid,  but 
their  interest  plainly  centered  upon  her  part  in  the 
campaign.  Would  she  be  well  enough  to  take  part 
in  the  election,  that  was  the  question.  They  sent 
flowers  and  notes.  The  flowers  reached  the  lady  for 
whom  they  were  intended;  the  notes  did  not.  And, 
after  the  first  week,  the  calls  became  fewer.  An 
nette  and  her  followers  had,  apparently,  given  up 
hope  of  aid  and  advice  from  their  candidate  for 
vice-president.  At  any  rate  they  ceased  to  trouble 
the  captain  and  his  daughter. 

"It's  all  the  better,  Daddy,  dear,"  said  Gertrude. 
"Mother  will  have  a  chance  to  rest  and  improve 
now." 

And  Serena  did  improve,   slowly  at  first,   then 

333 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

with  gratifying  rapidity.  She  began  to  sit  up  for  a 
portion  of  each  day  and  to  sleep  through  the  greater 
part  of  each  night.  At  the  end  of  the  tenth  day 
the  doctor  announced  that  the  nurse's  services  were 
no  longer  necessary. 

"She  will  be  all  right  now,"  he  said,  referring  to 
his  patient.  "But  she  must  continue  to  have  absolute 
rest  and  she  must  not  be  worried  or  permitted  to 
worry.  If  you  and  she  could  go  somewhere,  Captain 
Dott,  to  some  quiet  place  in  the  country,  and  stay 
there  for  six  months,  I  think  it  would  help  her  more 
than  anything.  Can  you  do  it?" 

"7  can  do  it,  Doctor,"  replied  Daniel  eagerly. 
"I'd  like  to  do  it.  I'll  go  anywhere,  if  it  will  help 
her." 

"Good!  Then  I  will  advise  it  and  you  and  Miss 
Dott  must  back  my  advice.  Will  you?" 

"I  will,  and  so'll  Gertie,  I'm  sure.  You  speak 
to  her,  Doctor.  We'll  do  the  backin'  up." 

So  the  doctor  made  the  suggestion.  Serena  re 
ceived  it  quietly,  but,  when  her  husband  came  to  do 
his  share  of  the  "backing  up,"  she  shook  her 
head. 

"I'd  like  to,  Daniel,"  she  said.  "I'd  like  to,  but  I 
can't." 

"You  can't?  Course  you  can!  Now  let's  think 
where  we'll  go.  Niagara  Falls,  hey?  You  always 
wanted  to  go  to  the  Falls." 

"No,  Daniel." 

"No?  Well,  then,  how  about  Washin'ton?  We'll 
see  the  President,  and  the  monument,  and  the  Smith 
sonian  Museum,  and  Congress — we'll  see  all  the 

curiosities  and  relics      We'll  go  to " 

334 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Don't,  Daniel.  It  makes  me  tired  out  just  to 
hear  about  them.  I  couldn't  stand  all  that." 

"Course  you  couldn't!  What  a  foolhead  I  am! 
The  doctor  said  you  needed  rest  and  quiet,  and 
Washin'ton  is  about  as  quiet  as  the  Ostable  Cattle 
Show.  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  the  White  Moun 
tains?" 

"In  winter?  No,  Daniel,  if  I  went  anywhere 
I  should  like  to  go  to — to " 

"Where,  Serena?  Just  name  it  and  I'll  buy  the 
tickets." 

"Daniel,  I'd  rather  go  to  Trumet  than  anywhere 
else." 

Captain  Dan  could  scarcely  believe  it. 

"What!"  he  cried.  "Trumet?  You  want  to  go 
to  Trumet,  Serena?  You?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  wanting  to  go  for  some  time. 
I  never  told  you;  I  wouldn't  even  admit  it  to  my 
self;  but  I've  thought  about  it  a  great  deal.  I  was 
getting  so  tired,  so  sick  of  all  the  going  about  and 
the  dressing  up  and  the  talking,  talking  all  the  time. 
I  longed  to  be  somewhere  where  there  was  nothing 
going  on  and  where  you  and  I  could  be  together  as 
we  used  to  be.  And,  oh,  Daniel " 

"Yes,  Serena?     Yes?" 

"Oh,  Daniel,  since  I've  been  really  sick,  since  I've 
been  getting  better  and  could  think  at  all,  I've  been 
thinking  more  and  more  about  our  old  house  at 
Trumet,  and  how  nice  and  comfortable  we  were 
there,  and  what  pleasant  evenings  you  and  I  used 
to  have  together.  It  was  home,  Daniel,  really  and 
truly  home,  and  this  place  never  has  been,  has  it?" 

"You  bet  it  hasn't!  It's  been — well,  never  mind, 
335 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

but  it  wasn't  home.  Lordy,  but  I'm  glad  to  hear 
you  talk  this  way,  Serena!  7  haven't  thought  any 
thing  else  since  we  first  landed,  but  I  never  imagined 
you  did." 

"I  didn't,  at  first.  It  has  been  only  lately  since 
I  began  to  feel  so  tired  and  my  head  troubled  me 
so.  Daniel,  I'm  not  sure  that  our  coming  here 
wasn't  a  mistake." 

The  captain  was  perfectly  sure.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"That's  all  right,  Serena,"  he  cried.  "If  it  was  a 
mistake  it's  one  that  can  be  straightened  out  in  two 
shakes  of  slack  jib  sheet.  You  stay  here  and  rest 
easy.  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I'm  going  to  make  arrangements  for  our  trip  to 
Trumet.  'Twon't  take  me  long." 

"Daniel,  stop!  Sit  down.  I  didn't  say  I  was 
going.  I  said  I  should  like  to  go." 

"That's  the  same  thing.  Now,  Serena,  I  know 
what's  frettin'  you.  You're  thinkin'  what'll  become 
of  this  house  and  all  the  fine  things  in  it.  They'll 
be  all  right.  We  could  rent  this  house  in  no  time, 
I  know  it.  I  ain't  sure  but  what  we  could  sell  it  if 
we  wanted  to.  That  real  estate  fellow,  the  one 
Barney — B.  Phelps,  I  mean — introduced  me  to  down 
street  one  time,  met  me  t'other  day  and  told  me  if 
I  ever  thought  of  sellin'  this  place  to  let  him  know. 
Said  he  had  a  customer,  or  thought  he  had,  that 
knew  the  house  well  and  always  liked  it.  He  be 
lieved  that  feller  would  buy,  if  the  orice  was  right. 
Course  I  didn't  pay  much  attenttorv  then;  I  judged 
YOU  wouldn't  think  of  selling  but " 

336 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Stop !  stop,  Daniel !  You  are  so  excited  it  makes 
me  nervous  again  to  hear  you.  I  wasn't  thinking  of 
the  house  at  all.  The  way  I  feel  now  I  had  as  soon 
sell  it  as  not.  But  that  isn't  it.  I  can't  leave  Scar- 
ford.  I  can't!" 

Daniel's  enthusiasm  faded.  There  was  determi 
nation  in  his  wife's  tone.  He  sat  down  again. 

"Oh!"  he  observed  wistfully,  "you  can't?  You're 
sure  you  can't,  Serena  ?  You  know  what  the  doctor 
said.  Why  can't  you  go?" 

"Because  I  can't.  It  is  impossible.  I  couldn't 
leave  the  Chapter.  Don't  you  see,  Daniel?  I  am 
a  candidate  for  vice-president.  My  friends — the 
truest,  most  loyal  friends  a  woman  ever  had — are 
depending  upon  me.  I  couldn't  desert  them.  I  told 
you  that  before.  Would  they  desert  me?" 

"I  suppose  likely  they  wouldn't,"  reluctantly. 

"You  know  they  wouldn't.  No  personal  consider 
ations,  no  selfish  reasons,  nothing  could  make  them 
do  it.  But  I've  said  this  all  before,  Daniel.  You 
must  see  why  I  have  to  stay.  I'd  like  to  go,  I'd 
love  to,  but  I  can't.  Let's  talk  of  something  else." 

Captain  Dan  sighed.  "I  presume  likely  you're 
right,  Serena,"  he  admitted.  "It  would  seem  like 
a  mean  trick,  the  way  you  put  it.  But  after  the 
election?  You  said,  when  we  was  talkin'  before, 
that  after  you  was  elected  maybe  you  would  go 
with  Gertie  and  me  somewhere.  And  we'll  go  to 
Trumet,  that's  where  we'll  go." 

"All  right,  Daniel,  dear,  we'll  see.  And  don't 
worry  about  me.  I  am  almost  well  again  and  I  am 
going  to  be  completely  well.  Now  won't  you  ask 
Gertie  to  come  in  and  talk  with  me?  I  am  beginning 

337 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

to  think  about  the  election.  Gertrude  must  go.  We 
need  her  vote  and  her  influence.  Has  she  been  help 
ing  Annette?  I  hope  she  has.  Send  her  to  me, 
Daniel,  please." 

So  the  captain,  his  hopes  somewhat  dashed,  but 
finding  comfort  in  his  wife's  new  longing  to  visit  the 
one  spot  on  earth  which  spelled  home  to  him,  left 
the  room  to  carry  Serena's  message  to  their  daugh 
ter. 

He  was  busy  at  the  desk  in  the  library  when,  sev 
eral  hours  later,  Gertrude  entered.  She  was  wearing 
her  hat  and  coat  and,  coming  into  the  library,  stood 
beside  him.  He  looked  up.  His  expression  sur 
prised  and  alarmed  her. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Daddy?"  she  asked 
anxiously.  "You  look  as  if  something  dreadful  had 
happened.  What  is  it?" 

Her  father  put  down  his  pen.  A  sheet  of  paper, 
covered  with  figures,  was  on  the  desk  before  him; 
so,  also,  was  the  family  checkbook  which  had  been, 
until  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Dott,  in  that  lady's  sole 
charge. 

"Matter?"  he  repeated.  "Matter?  Humph! 
Do  I  look  as  if  somethin'  was  the  matter?  Where 
have  you  been?" 

"I  have  been  out.  Mother  was  so  anxious  about 
the  election  that  I  promised  her  I  would  see  Mrs. 
Black  and  some  of  the  others  this  very  day.  I  have 
been  calling  on  them." 

"Have,  hey?  Well,  what's  the  prospect?  The 
cause  of  right  and  Black,  and  justice  and  Dott  is 
goin'  to  prevail,  I  presume  likely,  isn't  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  couldn't  find  out  anything. 
338 


Mrs.  Black  was  not  in,  at  least  that  is  what  the  maid 
said;  but  I  am  almost  sure  she  was  in.  I  think  I 
saw  her  peeping  between  the  curtains  as  I  went  down 
the  steps." 

"That  so?  Perhaps  she  was  dosin'  you  with  the 
same  medicine  I  handed  her  when  she  called  that 
first  day  after  Serena  was  taken  down." 

"I  thought  of  that.  But  I  called  on  three  other 
leaders  of  Mother's  party " 

"Yours  and  your  mother's,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  called  on  three  of  our  leaders. 
Two  of  them  were  in  and  I  talked  with  them.  I 
could  learn  nothing  from  either  about  the  election. 
They  would  not  discuss  it,  except  to  say  that  every 
thing  would  be  all  right.  They  behaved  so  oddly 
and  were  so  embarrassed.  It  was  perfectly  obvious 
that  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me.  I  can't  under 
stand  it." 

"There's  lots  of  things  we  can't  understand  in 
this  world.  Don't  fret  your  mother  about  it." 

"I  shan't,  of  course.  But  what  is  troubling  you, 
Daddy?  Something,  I  know." 

"Look  that  way,  do  I?  My  looks  don't  belie  me, 
then.  See  here,  Gertie,  I'm  stumped.  I've  been 
goin'  over  back  bills  and  the  bankbook  and  the  check 
book  and — and — well,  I'm  on  my  beam  ends,  that's 
where  I  am." 

"Why?     Don't  the  books  balance?" 

"They  balance  all  right.  That's  what's  kicked 
me  over.  If  they're  true — course  they  can't  be,  but 
/'/  they  are — we've  spent  close  to  five  thousand  dol 
lars  since  we  made  this  town." 

"Indeed  I    Well?" 

339 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Well!  Five  thousand  dollars!  I'm  sayin'  five 
thousand;  do  you  understand?" 

"I  understand.  I'm  not  surprised.  Living  as  we 
do,  and  moving  in  the — in  the  best  society  as  we 
have,  the  expense  is  large,  naturally.  You  must  ex 
pect  that." 

"Expect!  Gertie  Baker  Dott,  stop  talkin'  that 
way!  Our  income,  not  countin'  what  the  store  at 
Trumet  is  fetchin'  in,  ain't  over  six  thousand  at  the 
outside.  Six  thousand  a  year,  that  is.  And  we've 
got  rid  of  five  thousand  in  a  few  months!  We've 
got  a  thousand  or  so  to  live  the  rest  of  this  year  on. 
One  thousand " 

"Hush,  Daddy!  Don't  shout  and  wave  your 
arms.  We  shall  have  to  use  a  part  of  the  principal, 
I  presume." 

"Part  of  the  prin Oh,  my  soul  and  body! 

Use  part  of  it  this  year,  and  some  more  next  year, 

and  some  more  the  next,   and — and Do  you 

know  where  we'll  be  ten  year  from  now?     In  the 
poorhouse,  that's  where." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not  as  bad  as  that.  And,  besides, 
think  what  a  beautiful  time  we  shall  have  during 
those  ten  years.  Just  as  beautiful  as  we  have  had 
so  far;  better,  no  doubt,  for  we  have  really  only 
begun." 

"Ger-tie  Dott!" 

"Just  think  of  it,  Daddy.     We  have  only  begun." 

"I — I  won't  think  of  it!  I'll  stop  it,  that's  what 
I'll  do!" 

Gertrude  smilingly  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't,  Daddy,"  she  said.  "You 
never  stop  anything." 

340 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

She  turned  to  go.  Captain  Dan  sat,  speechless 
in  his  chair,  staring  at  the  bills,  the  figures,  the 
checkbook,  and  the  prospect  of  the  poorhouse.  Then 
he  felt  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Never  mind,  Daddy,  dear,"  she  said  softly.  "I 
wouldn't  worry  any  more,  if  I  were  you.  I  think — 
I  am  beginning  to  hope  that  your  worries  are  almost 
over." 

She  kissed  him  and  hurried  out  before  he  could 
collect  his  senses  sufficiently  to  ask  what  she  meant. 
He  did  ask  her  at  their  next  meeting,  but  she  only 
smiled  and  would  not  tell  him. 

The  next  morning  Serena's  first  remark  was  con 
cerning  the  election,  which  was  to  take  place  that 
evening.  All  that  day  she  spoke  of  little  else,  and 
when  the  evening  came  she  insisted  upon  Gertrude's 
leaving  for  the  hall  immediately  after  dinner. 
Laban  went  with  her  as  escort,  Mr.  Hungerford's 
former  enviable  duty,  and  one  which  that  gentleman 
had  appeared  to  enjoy  more  than  did  its  present 
occupant,  who  grumbled  at  missing  his  "after  sup 
per"  smoke.  Laban  returned  early.  Gertrude  did 
not. 

It  was  after  ten  when  the  young  lady  appeared. 
She  was  very  grave  when  her  father  met  her  in  the 
hall. 

"How  is  Mother?"  she  asked.    "Asleep,  I  hope." 

Daniel  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "she's  asleep, 
for  a  wonder.  She  vowed  and  declared  she  was 
goin'  to  stay  awake  until  you  came,  but  I  read  out 
loud  to  her  and  she  dropped  off  while  I  was  doin' 
it" 

*'Then  don't  wake  her,  for  the  world.     Tell  her 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

I  have  returned,  that  I  am  tired  and  have  gone  to 
bed,  and  will  give  her  the  news  in  the  morning." 

"That  won't  do.  She'll  want  to  know  to-night. 
What  is  the  news?  Can't  you  leave  some  message? 
She  won't  rest  if  you  don't." 

Gertrude  pondered.  "Tell  her,"  she  began  slowly, 
"tell  her  Mrs.  Black  is  elected.  That  is  all  to-night. 
Perhaps  she  will  take — other  things  for  granted." 

But  when  morning,  very  early  morning,  came, 
Captain  Dan  summoned  his  daughter  from  her  room. 

"She's  wide  awake,  Gertie,"  he  said,  "and  she 
wants  to  know  it  all.  You'd  better  come  and  tell 
her." 

But  Gertrude  had  been  thinking.  "I  think  you 
had  better  tell  her  first,  Daddy,"  she  said.  "I  think 
it  may  be  wiser  for  you  to  tell  her.  Things  were 
said  and  done  at  that  election  which  she  must  not 
know.  They  were  so  mean,  so  contemptible  that 
she  ought  never  to  know.  If  I  am  not  there  she 
cannot  ask  about  them.  I  will  tell  you  the  result 
and  how  it  came  about  and  you  can  tell  her.  Per 
haps  that  will  be  sufficient.  I  hope  it  may  be.  Listen, 
Daddy." 

Daniel  listened.  "My  soul  and  body!"  he  ex 
claimed,  when  the  tale  was  ended.  "My  Godfreys  1 
and  those  were  the  folks  she  figgered  were  het 
friends!" 

"Yes." 

"And  Annette  Black " 

"She  was  the  moving  spirit  in  the  whole  of  it,  I'm 
certain." 

"My  Godfreys  !  And  she — and  she — well,  I  guess 
maybe  Serena'll  be  willin'  to  go  back  to  Trumet 

342 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

now.  She  wanted  to  go  before;  'twas  only  loyalty 
to  that  gang  that  kept  her  from  goin'.  She's  sick 
of  society,  and  sick  of  politics,  and  sick  of  Scarford. 
She  said  she'd  give  anything  to  go  back  to  the  old 
house  and  be  comfortable  same  as  we  used  to  be; 
she  said " 

"Daddy!"  Gertrude  seized  his  arm.  She  was 
strangely  excited.  "Did  she — did  Mother  really  say 
that?"  she  demanded  eagerly. 

"Sure,  she  said  it!    Twice  she  told  me  so." 

"And  she  meant  it?" 

"She  acted  as  if  she  did.  Course  we  both  realized 
'twould  be  hard  for  you,  Gertie,  but " 

"Go  !  Go  and  tell  her  about  the  election.  Quick! 
quick!"  She  fairly  pushed  him  from  her.  "Don't 
wait,"  she  urged,  "go." 

Daniel  was  on  his  way  when  she  called  him  back. 

"I  almost  forgot,  Daddy,  dear,"  she  said  repent 
antly.  "I  was  so  gl — I  mean — well,  never  mind. 
What  I  want  to  say  is  that  if  you  think  the  news 
will  be  too  great  a  shock,  if  you  think  she  is  not 
strong  enough  to  hear  it  now " 

Her  father  interrupted.  "She's  stronger  than 
I've  seen  her  for  a  fortnight,"  he  declared.  "And 
one  thing's  sure,  she  won't  rest  till  she  does  hear  it. 
I  shall  tell  her,  and  get  it  over." 

"Then  be  as  gentle  as  you  can,  won't  you?" 

"I'll  try.  But,  Gertie,  what  did  you  mean  by  say- 
in'  you  was  so — so  glad?  That  was  what  you  was 
goin'  to  say,  wasn't  you?  I  don't  see  as  there's 
much  to  be  glad  about." 

"Don't  you?  Well,  perhaps  .  .  .  Run  along, 
Daddy,  run  along." 

343 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

She  closed  the  door  of  her  room.  Daniel,  much 
perplexed,  departed  on  his  unpleasant  errand. 

His  wife  was  eagerly  awaiting  him. 

"Where's  Gertie?"  she  demanded.  "Isn't  she 
coming?" 

"She'll  come  by  and  by,  Serena.  She  isn't  quite 
dressed  yet." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  Why  doesn't 
she  come,  herself?  Didn't  you  tell  her  I  was  dying 
to  hear  about  the  election?  She  must  know  I 
am." 

"She  does;  she  knows  that,  Serena.  But  she 
thought — she  thought  I'd  better  tell  you  first,  my 
self." 

Serena  leaned  forward  to  look  at  him.  His  ex 
pression  alarmed  her. 

"Why  don't  you  tell,  then?"  she  asked.  "Is  it — • 
oh,  Daniel,  it  isn't  bad  news,  is  it?" 

"It  ain't  very  good,  Serena." 

"You  don't  mean — why,  you  said  that  Annette 
was  elected;  you  said  so  last  night." 

"Yes — yes,  she  was  elected,  Serena;  but " 

"But — but  /  wasn't.  Is  that  what  you  mean, 
Daniel?" 

"Well  now,  Serena " 

"I  wasn't.  Yes,  it  is  true,  I  can  see  it  in  your 
face.  I  was  defeated.  Oh — oh,  Daniel !" 

Captain  Dan  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"There !  there !  Serena,"  he  said  chokingly,  "don't 
cry,  don't.  Don't  feel  too  bad  about  it.  Politics 
is  politics,  inside  Chapters  and  out,  I  guess.  I'm 
as  much  disappointed  as  you  are,  for  your  sake,  but 
— but  don't  care  too  much,  will  you?  Don't  make 

344 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

yourself  sick  again.  Don't  cry  no  more  than  you 
can  help." 

Serena  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder. 

"I'm  not  crying,"  she  said.  "Really  I'm  not, 
Daniel.  It  is  a  relief  to  me,  in  a  way." 

"A  relief  r* 

"Yes.  If  it  had  happened  a  month  ago  I  should 
have  felt  it  terribly.  I  was  crazy  for  office  then. 
But  lately  I  have  dreaded  it  so.  If  I  were  vice- 
president  I  should  have  so  much  care,  so  much  re 
sponsibility.  Now,  I  shan't.  The  honor  would 
have  been  great,  I  appreciate  that.  But,  for  the 
rest  of  it,  I  don't  really  care." 

"Don't  care!     My  soul  and  body!" 

"No,  I  don't.  And  now,"  bravely,  "tell  me  all 
about  it.  I  don't  quite  see  how  Annette  could  win 
if  I  did  not;  but  Miss  Canby  is  popular,  she  has  a 
great  many  friends.  I  hope,"  wistfully,  "I  hope  I 
got  a  good  vote.  Did  I,  Daniel?" 

Daniel's  indignation  burst  forth. 

"You  didn't  get  any  votes,  Serena,"  he  cried 
angrily. 

"What?     What?     No  votes?    Why " 

"Not  a  blessed  one.  They  put  up  a  low-down 
political  trick  on  you,  Serena.  They  left  you  out  to 
save  themselves.  They  took  advantage  of  your  bein' 

sick  to — to Here,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  they 

did." 

What  they  had  done  was  this:  Mrs.  Lake  and 
Mrs.  Black,  heads  of  the  opposing  factions,  each 
realizing  how  close  the  vote  was  likely  to  be,  had, 
with  their  lieutenants — Mrs.  Dott  excepted — gotten 
together  five  days  before  the  election  and  arranged 

345 


CAPN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

a  compromise,  a  trade.  By  this  arrangement,  An 
nette  was  to  receive  the  Lake  party's  support  foi 
president;  Miss  Canby  was  to  be  given  the  Black 
support  for  vice-president;  and  the  united  support 
of  both  factions  was  to  be  behind  Mrs.  Lake  in  her 
struggle  for  office  in  the  National  body.  This  ar 
rangement  was  carried  through.  Serena,  not  being 
on  hand  to  protect  her  own  interest,  had  been  sacri 
ficed,  her  name  had  not  even  been  brought  before  the 
members  to  be  voted  upon. 

Captain  Dan  told  of  this  precious  scheme,  just 
as  it  had  been  told  him  by  his  daughter.  At  first 
his  wife  interrupted  with  exclamations  and  questions; 
then  she  listened  in  silence. 

"That's  what  they  did,"  cried  the  captain  angrily. 
"Chucked  you  into  the  scrap  heap  to  save  them 
selves.  And  you  sick  abed!  This  was  the  gang 
you  worked  yourself  pretty  nigh  to  death  for.  These 
were  the  friends  you  thought  you  had.  And  An* 
nette  Black  was  the  worst  of  all.  'Twas  her  idea  in 
the  first  place.  Why,  Serena " 

But  Serena  could  hear  no  more.  She  threw  her 
arms  about  her  husband's  neck  and  the  tears,  which 
she  had  so  bravely  repressed  at  the  tidings  of  her 
own  disappointment,  burst  forth. 

"Oh — oh,  Daniel,"  she  sobbed,  "take  me  away 
from  here.  I  hate  this  place;  I  hate  Scarf ord  and 
all  the  dreadful  people  in  it!  Take  me  to  Trumet, 
Daniel.  Take  me  home!  Take  me  home!" 

Half  an  hour  later  Captain  Dan  shouted  his 
daughter's  name  over  the  balusters. 

"Gertie!"  he  called;  "Gertie!  come  up  here,  will 
you?" 

346 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

Gertrude  came.  She  entered  the  room  hastily. 
She  had  feared  to  find  her  mother  prostrate,  suffer 
ing  from  a  new  attack  of  "nerves."  She  was  pre 
pared  to  obey  her  father's  order  to  'phone  for  the 
doctor. 

But  Serena  did  not,  apparently,  need  a  doctor. 
She  was  not  prostrate,  and,  although  she  was  nerv 
ous,  it  was  rather  the  nervousness  of  expectancy, 
coupled  with  determination. 

"Gertie,"  said  the  captain,  "I've  got  some  news 
for  you.  Your  mother  and  I  have  made  up  our 
minds  to  go  back  to  Trumet,  and  we  want  you  to 
go  along  with  us." 

The  young  lady  did  not  answer  at  once.  Sh( 
looked  first  at  Serena  and  then  at  Daniel.  The 
troubled  expression  left  her  face  and  was  succeeded 
by  another,  an  odd  one.  When  she  spoke  it  was 
in  a  tone  of  great  surprise. 

"To  Trumet?"  she  repeated.  "Go  back  to  Tru 
met?  Not  to  live  there?" 

Captain  Dan  hesitated,  but  his  wife  did 
not. 

"Yes,"  she  said  decidedly,  "to  live.  For  the  pres 
ent,  anyhow.  At  least  we  shan't  live  here  any 
longer." 

"Not  live  here?  Not  live  in  Scarford,  Mother! 
Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

Her  father  answered.  "She  means  what  she  says, 
I  presume  likely,"  he  observed  impatiently.  "Think 
she's  talkin'  for  the  fun  of  it?  This  ain't  April  Fool 
Day." 

"But  she  can't  mean  it.     She  can't!     Give  up  the 

Chapter,  and  all  our  friends " 

347 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Friends  I  They're  a  healthy  lot  of  friends,  they 
are!" 

"Hush,  Daddy;  I'm  not  talking  to  you.  Do  you 
realize  what  you  are  saying,  Mother?  Give  up  the 
Chapter,  and  all  your  ambitions  there?  Give  up 
Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Lake  and  Miss  Canby " 

"And  that  twist  and  squirm,  antique  Greece  dis 
grace  of  a  Dusante  woman — don't  forget  her.  Ger 
tie,  you  stop  now.  Your  ma  knows " 

"Daddy,  be  still.  Be  still,  I  say!  Mother,  are 
you  willing  to  give  them  up?  And  all  our  society! 
You  say  yourself — I've  heard  you  often — that  there 
is  no  society  in  Trumet.  Give  up  our  bridge  lessons, 
and  our  dancing,  and  our  teas,  and " 

"For  the  land  sakes !  What  is  this;  a  catalogue 
you're  givin'  us?  Stop  it!  Serena,  you  tell  her  to 
stop." 

But  Gertrude  would  not  stop.  She  ignored  her 
father  utterly. 

"Think  what  it  would  mean,"  she  protested. 
"Think  of  your  social  position,  Mother,  the  position 
we  have  worked  so  hard  to  attain." 

Serena  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  care,"  she  said 
firmly.  "Our  social  position  was  good  enough  in 
Trumet." 

"What!  Why,  Mother !  how  often  I  have  heard 
you  say " 

"Never  mind  what  I  said.  I  have  said  a  lot  of 
foolish  things,  and  done  a  lot,  too.  But  I'm  through. 
I'm  sick  and  disgusted  with  it  all.  I'm  going  to  be 
simple  and  comfortable  and  happy — yes,  happy. 
Oh,  Gertie,  don't  talk  to  me  about  society!  There 
isn't  a  real,  sincere  person  in  it,  not  in  the  set  we 

348 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  been  in.     I  hate  Scarford  and  I  hate  society." 

"Mother!  how  can  you!  And  opportunity  and 
advancement ' ' 

"I  hate  them,  too." 

Gertrude  gasped.  "Why,  Mother!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "And  it  was  you  who  first  showed  me  the 
way.  Who  showed  me  how  common  and  dull  and 
unambitious  I  had  been  all  my  life?  Think  what 
leaving  here  would  mean  to  me.  What  would  Miss 
Dusante  think?  I  had  almost  arranged  to  take  danc 
ing  lessons  of  her.  Think  of  Mr.  Holway.  Is 
there  a  young  man  like  him  in  Trumet?  Think  of 
Cousin  Percy!" 

That  was  quite  enough.  Serena  rose,  her  eyes 
flashing. 

"Stop!"  she  cried.  "Stop  this  minute!  Gertrude 
Dott,  your  father  and  I  are  going  back  to  Trumet 
and  you  are  going  with  us." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not.    Why,  Cousin  Percy " 

"Don't  you  dare  mention  his  name  to  me." 

"Why  not?  He  is  very  gentlemanly  and  very 
aristocratic.  You  told  me  that  when  I  first  came, 
Mother.  You  were  always  talking  about  him  and 
praising  him  then.  And  I'm  sure  he  moves  in  the 
highest  circles;  he  says  he  does,  himself." 

"He  is  a  good-for-nothing  loafer.  He  has 
sponged  upon  your  father " 

"You  have  often  spoken  of  him  as  an  honor  to 
the  family." 

"A  good-for-nothing,   dissipated,   fast " 

"Oh,  a  little  dissipation  is  expected  in  society, 
isn't  it?" 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed!" 

349 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Why?  I  haven't  done  a  thing  that  you  haven't 
done,  Mother.  That  is,  nothing  which  your  friends 
don't  do  every  day.  They  are  ever  so  much  more 
advanced  than  I  am.  I  have  only  begun.  No,  in 
deed,  I  am  not  going  back  to  plain,  common,  every 
day  old  Trumet.  I  shall  stay  here  and  progress. 
You  and  your  friends  have  shown  me  what  is  ex 
pected  of  a  girl  in  my  position  and  I  shall  take  ad 
vantage  of  my  opportunities.  Why,  Mrs.  Black  says 
that,  if  I  play  my  cards  well,  I  may  catch  a  million 
aire,  perhaps  a  foreign  nobleman.  How  would  you 
like  to  be  mother-in-law  to  a — well,  to  a  count,  for 
instance?" 

Mrs.  Dott  did  not  answer  this  question.  Instead 
she  turned  to  her  husband. 

"Daniel,"  she  cried,  "are  you  going  to  stand  this? 
Are  you  that  girl's  father,  or  aren't  you?  Are  you 
going  to  make  her  mind,  or  not?" 

Daniel  would  have  spoken,  but  his  daughter  got 
ahead  of  him. 

"Oh,  Father  doesn't  count,"  she  observed  lightly. 
"No  one  minds  what  he  says.  He  didn't  want  to 
move  to  Scarford  at  all.  No  one  minds  him." 

Serena  stamped  her  foot.  "Daniel  Dott,"  she 
cried,  "do  you  hear  that?  I  call  upon  you,  as  the 
head  of  this  family,  to  tell  that  girl  what  she's  got 
to  do,  and  make  her  do  it." 

Captain  Dan  stepped  forward.  Gertrude  merely 
laughed.  That  laugh  settled  the  question. 

"Gertie,"  ordered  the  captain,  his  voice,  the  old 
quarter-deck  voice  which  had  been  law  aboard  the 
Bluebird,  "you  march  your  boots  to  your  room 
and  pack  up.  We're  goin'  to  Trumet  and  you're 

350 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

goin'  along  with  us.  March !  or,  by  the  everlastin', 
I'll  carry  you  there  and  lock  you  in!  You  speak 
another  word  and  I'll  do  it,  anyway.  Serena,  I'll 
'tend  to  her.  You're  tired  out;  lie  down  and  rest." 

"But,  Daniel " 

"Lie  down  and  rest.  I'm  runnin'  this  craft. 
Well,"  wheeling  upon  his  daughter,  "are  you  goin'  ? 
Or  shall  I  carry  you?" 

Gertrude  looked  at  him  and  then  at  her  mother. 
Her  lips  twitched. 

"I'll  go,  Daddy,"  she  said  meekly,  and  went. 

When  Captain  Dan  descended  to  the  lower  floor 
he  found  Mr.  Ginn  in  the  library. 

"Hello!"  hailed  the  latter,  "you  look  kind  of 
set-up  and  sassy,  seems  to  me.  You  ain't  had  nothin* 
to  drink,  have  you?" 

"Drink?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Has  any 
body  around  here  had  anything  to  drink?" 

"I  don't  know.  Some  of  'em  act  as  if  they  had. 
When  I  came  into  the  kitchen  a  spell  ago  I  found 
my  wife  and  Gertie  dancin'  like  a  couple  of  loons." 

"Dancin'?" 

"Yes,  sir,  holdin'  hands  and  hoppin'  around  like 
sand  fleas  in  a  clam  bake.  I  asked  Vm  what  set  'em 
goin'  and  they  wouldn't  tell  me.  I  couldn't  think  of 
anything  but  liquor  that  would  start  Zuby  Jane 
dancin'.  I  don't  know's  that  would — I  never  tried 
it  on  her — but  'twas  the  only  likely  guess  I  could 
make." 


CHAPTER   XV 

CAPTAIN  DAN  was  seated  in  his  old  chair, 
at  his  old  desk,  behind  the  counter  of  the 
Metropolitan  Store.  His  pipe,  the  worn, 
charred  briar  that  he  had  left  in  the  drawer  of  thak 
very  desk  when  he  started  for  the  railway  station  and 
Scarford,  was  in  his  mouth.  Over  the  counter,  be 
yond  the  showcases  and  the  tables  with  their  piles 
of  oilskins,  mittens,  sou'westers,  and  sweaters, 
through  the  panes  of  the  big  front  windows,  he 
could  see  the  road,  the  main  street  of  Trumet.  The 
road  was  muddy,  and  the  mud  had  frozen.  Beyond 
the  road,  between  the  shops  and  houses  on  the  op 
posite  side,  he  saw  the  bare  brown  hills,  the  pond 
where  the  city  people  found  waterlilies  in  the  sum 
mer — the  pond  was  now  a  glare  of  ice — the  sand 
dunes,  the  beach,  the  closed  and  shuttered  hotel  and 
cottages,  and,  Beyond  these,  the  cold  gray  and  white 
of  the  wintry  sea  rolling  beneath  a  gloomy  sky.  To 
the  average  person  the  view  would  have  been  deso 
lation  itself.  To  Captain  Dan  it  was  a  section  of 
Paradise.  It  was  the  picture  which  had  been  in  his 
mind  for  months.  And  here  it  was  in  reality,  un 
changed,  unspoiled,  a  part  of  home,  his  home.  And 
he,  at  last,  was  at  home  again. 

They  had  been  in  Trumet  a  week,  the  captain 
and  Serena  and  Gertrude.  Azuba  had  been  there 
two  days  longer,  having  been  sent  on  ahead  of  the 

352 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

family  to  open  the  house  and  get  it  ready.  Laban 
remained  behind  as  caretaker  of  the  Scarford  man 
sion.  His  term  of  service  in  that  capacity  was  not 
likely  to  be  a  long  one,  for  the  real  estate  dealer 
was  in  active  negotiation  with  his  client,  and  the 
dealer's  latest  report  stated  that  the  said  client  was 
considering  hiring  the  house,  furnished,  for  a  few 
months  and,  in  the  event  of  his  liking  it  as  well  as 
he  expected,  would  then,  in  all  probability,  buy. 

Laban's  remaining  as  caretaker  was  his  own  sug 
gestion. 

"Me  and  the  old  gal — Zuby  Jane,  I  mean — have 
talked  it  over,"  he  explained,  "and  it  seems  like  the 
best  thing  to  do.  You've  got  to  have  somebody 
here,  Cap'n  Dott,  you've  got  to  pay  somebody,  and 
it  might  as  well  be  me.  I'm  out  of  a  job  just  now, 
anyway.  As  for  me  and  my  wife  bein'  separated — 
well,  we're  different  from  most  married  folks  that 
way;  it  seems  the  natural  thing  for  us  to  be  sep 
arated.  We're  used  to  it,  as  you  might  say.  I  don't 
know  as  we'd  get  along'so  well  together  if  we  wasn't 
separated.  There's  nothin'  like  separation  to  keep 
husband  and  wife  happy  along  with  one  another. 
I've  been  with  Zuby  for  most  three  weeks  steady 
'now;  that's  the  longest  stretch  we've  had  in  a  good 
many  years.  We  ain't  quarreled  once,  neither." 

He  seemed  to  consider  the  fact  remarkable.  Cap 
tain  Dott  grinned. 

"I  suppose  that  shuttin'  her  up  in  the  dish  closet 
wasn't  what  you'd  call  a  quarrel,  hey?"  he  observed. 

Mr.  Ginn  was  momentarily  embarrassed. 

"Oh,  that!"  he  exclaimed.  "Humph!  I  forgot 
that,  for  the  minute.  But  that  wasn't  a  quarrel, 

353 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

rightly  speakin'.  'Twas  just  a  little  difference  of 
opinion  on  account  of  my  not  understandin'  her 
reason  for  bein'  so  sot  on  havin'  her  own  way. 
Soon's  I  understood  'twas  all  right.  And  you  see 
yourself  how  peaceable  she's  been  ever  since." 

So,  after  consultation  with  Azuba,  the  arrange 
ment  was  perfected.  Laban  was  to  receive  ten  dol 
lars  a  week,  from  which  sum  he  was  to  provide  his 
own  meals.  He  was  to  sleep  in  the  house,  but  the 
meals  were  to  be  obtained  elsewhere.  Mrs.  Dott 
would  not  consider  his  cooking  in  her  kitchen. 

Serena  bore  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  well  and 
the  sight  of  her  old  home,  with  the  table  set  for 
supper,  plants  in  the  dining-room  windows,  and  all 
the  little  familiar  touches  which  Azuba's  thoughtful- 
ness  had  supplied,  served  to  bring  her  the  content 
ment  and  happiness  she  had  been  longing  for.  Each 
day  she  gained  in  health  and  strength,  and  the  rest 
and  freedom  from  care,  together  with  the  early  hours 
— they  retired  at  nine-thirty  each  night — were  doing 
wonders  for  her.  Her  husband  was  delighted  at 
the  improvement.  He  was  delighted  with  every 
thing,  the  familiar  scenes,  the  smell  of  the  salt 
marshes,  and  of  the  sea,  the  clear,  cold  air,  the 
meeting  with  friends  and  acquaintances,  the  freedom 
from  society — he  had  not  even  unpacked  his  dress 
suit,  vowing  to  Gertrude  that  it  might  stay  buried 
till  Judgment,  he  wouldn't  resurrect  it — all  these 
things  delighted  his  soul.  And  now,  on  the  Satur 
day  morning  at  the  end  of  his  first  week  at  home, 
as  he  sat  in  his  arm  chair  behind  the  counter  of  the 
Metropolitan  Store,  looking  at  the  view  through  the 
windows  and  at  the  store  itself,  he  was  a  happy 

354 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

man.  There  was  one  flaw  in  his  happiness,  but  that 
he  had  forgotten  for  the  moment. 

He  glanced  about  him,  took  a  long  pull  at  his 
pipe,  and  said  aloud:  "Well,  if  I  didn't  know  'twas 
the  same  place,  I  wouldn't  have  known  it.  I  never 
saw  such  a  change  in  my  life." 

Nathaniel  Bangs,  standing  by  the  front  window, 
turned. 

"I  don't  see  much  difference,"  he  said.  "The  old 
town  looks  about  the  same  to  me." 

The  captain  smilingly  shook  his  head. 

"  'Tain't  the  town,"  he  observed.  "It's  this  store. 
Nate,  you're  a  wonder,  that's  what  you  are,  a  won 
der." 

For,  if  the  view  had  not  changed,  if  it  was  the 
same  upon  which  Daniel  Dott  had  looked  for  many 
winters,  through  the  windows  of  that  very  store, 
the  store  itself  had  changed  materially.  Mr.  Bangs 
had  wrought  the  change  and  it  was  distinctly  a 
change  for  the  better.  The  stock,  and  there  was  a 
surprising  deal  of  it,  was  new  and  attractively  dis 
played.  The  contents  of  the  showcases  were  varied 
and  up-to-date.  Neatly  lettered  placards  calling  at 
tention  to  special  bargains  hung  in  places  where 
they  were  most  likely  to  be  seen.  There  was  a 
spruce,  swept,  and  garnished  look  to  the  establish 
ment;  as  Azuba  said  when  she  first  saw  it  after  her 
return,  it  looked  as  if  it  had  had  a  shave  and  a 
hair  cut.  In  other  words,  the  Metropolitan  Store 
appeared  wide  awake  and  prosperous,  as  if  it  was 
making  money — which  it  was. 

It  was  not  making  a  great  deal,  of  course,  as  yet. 
This  was  the  dullest  season  of  the  year.  But  the 

355 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Christmas  trade  had  been  good  and,  thanks  to 
Nathaniel's  enterprise  and  effort,  the  scallop  fisher 
men,  the  quahaug  rakers,  and  the  members  of  the 
life-saving  crews  were  once  more  buying  their  out 
fits  at  the  Metropolitan  Store  instead  of  patronizing 
Mr.  J.  Cohen  and  The  Emporium.  Mr.  Bangs  was 
already  selecting  his  summer  stock;  and  his  plans 
for  the  disposal  of  that  stock  were  definite  and  busi 
ness-like. 

"If  you  don't  say  no,  Cap'n  Dott,"  he  had  ex 
plained,  "I'm  going  to  try  putting  on  a  horse  and 
wagon  this  summer.  There's  no  reason  why  we 
shouldn't  get  the  cottage  trade  down  at  the  Neck, 
and  all  along  shore.  Jim  Bartlett,  Sam's  older 
brother,  would  like  the  job  driving  that  wagon.  He's 
smart  as  a  whip,  Jim  is,  and  he's  willing  to  work  on 
commission.  Let  him  start  out  twice  a  week  with  a 
load  of  hats  and  oilskins  and  belts  and  children's 
shovels  and  pails — all  the  sort  of  stuff  the  boarders 
and  cottage  folks  buy  and  that  they'd  buy  more  of 
if  it  was  brought  right  to  their  doors — and  he'll 
catch  a  heap  of  trade  that  goes  to  Bayport  or 
Wellmouth  or  The  Emporium  now.  What  he 
don't  carry  he  can  take  orders  for  and  deliver 
next  trip.  If  you  don't  say  no,  Cap'n  Dott,  I'm 
going  to  try  it.  And  I'll  bet  a  month's  wages  it's 
a  go." 

Captain  Dan  had  not  said  no.  On  the  contrary 
he  expressed  enthusiastic  approval  of  his  manager's 
plans  and  enterprise.  Also,  he  had  been  thinking 
of  some  adequate  reward,  some  means  of  proving  his 
gratitude  real. 

"You're  a  wonder,  Nate,"  repeated  Daniel.  ''I 
356 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

don't  know  how  to  get  even  with  you,  but  I've  got 
an  idea,  I've  talked  it  over  with  Serena  already 
and  she's  for  it.  I  want  to  ask  Gertie's  opinion  and 
if  she  says  yes,  and  she  will,  I'm  almost  sartin,  I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is." 

"All  right,  Cap'n.  Don't  you  worry  yourself  try 
ing  to  'get  even,'  as  you  call  it,  with  me.  I've  en 
joyed  being  in  charge  here.  I  always  said  there  was 
money  in  a  store  in  Trumet,  if  it  was  run  as  it  should 
be.  One  year  more  and  I  can  show  you  a  few 
things,  I'll  bet." 

"You've  shown  'em  already.  Land  of  love!  I 
should  say  you  had." 

"Give  me  time  and  I'll  show  you  more.  We  have 
only  begun  .  .  .  Why,  what's  the  matter?  What 
made  you  look  that  way?" 

"Oh,  nothin',  nothin'.  Only  your  sayin'  we'd  only 
begun  reminded  me  of — of  other  things.  I  don't 
suppose  I'll  ever  hear  'only  begun'  without  shiverin'. 
Humph !  there's  some  kind  of  beginnin's  I  hope  I'll 
never  hear  of  again.  Gertie  been  in  this  mornin', 
has  she?  She  isn't  in  the  house." 

"No,  I  saw  her  go  down  street  a  little  while  ago,. 
Gone  for  her  morning  walk,  perhaps.  How  is  Mrs. 
Dott  to-day?" 

"Fine.  Tip  top.  I  ain't  seen  her  so  satisfied  with 
life  for  two  months  or  more.  She's  gettin'  better 
every  minute." 

"That's  good.  Contented  to  be  back  in  Trumet, 
is  she?" 

"Seems  to  be.     /  am;  you  can  bet  high  on  that." 

"And — er — Gertie,  is  she  contented,  too?" 

This  question  touched  directly  the  one  uncertainty, 

357 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

the  one  uncomfortable  doubt  in  the  captain's  mind. 
He  looked  keenly  at  the  questioner. 

"What  makes  you  ask  that?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  She  seems  changed,  that's 
all.  She  used  to  be  so  full  of  spirits,  and  so  bright 
and  lively.  Now  she  is  quiet  and  doesn't  talk  much. 
Looks  thinner,  too,  and  as  if  something  was  troub 
ling  her.  Perhaps  it  is  my  imagination.  When's 
John  Doane  coming  down?  'Most  time  for  him 
to  be  spending  a  Sunday  with  you,  ain't  it?  Engaged 
folks  don't  usually  stay  apart  more  than  a  week, 
especially  when  the  one  is  as  near  the  other  as  Bos 
ton  is  to  Trumet." 

Daniel  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  into  the 
wastebasket. 

"Oh,  oh,  John'll  be  along  pretty  soon,  I  shouldn't 
wonder,"  he  said  hastily.  "He — he's  pretty  busy 
these  days,  I  suppose." 

"Nice  thing  his  bein'  taken  into  the  firm,  after 
Mr.  Griffin  died,  wasn't  it.  Well,  he's  a  pretty 
smart  fellow,  John  is,  and  he  deserves  to  get  ahead. 
Did  he  tell  you  the  particulars  about  it?" 

"No.  No,  not  all  of  'em.  Is  that  a  customer  in 
the  other  room?" 

Mr.  Bangs  hurried  away  to  attend  to  the  cus 
tomer.  The  captain  seized  the  opportunity  to  make 
a  timely  exit.  He  went  into  the  house,  remained  a 
while  with  his  wife,  and  then  returned.  Nathaniel 
had  gone  on  an  order-taking  trip  and  Sam  Bartlett, 
the  boy,  was  in  charge.  Just  as  Daniel  entered  the 
store  from  the  side  door  Gertrude  came  in  at  the 
front. 

"Hello,  Daddy,"  she  said.     "All  alone?" 
358 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Not  quite,  but  I'd  just  as  soon  be.  Sam,  go 
into  the  other  room;  I'll  hall  you  if  I  need  you. 
Gertie,  come  here.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you.'* 

Gertrude  came.  She  took  her  old  position,  perch 
ing  upon  the  arm  of  her  father's  chair,  with  her  own 
arm  about  his  neck. 

"Gertie,"  began  the  captain,  "what  would  you 
think  of  my  makin'  Nate  Bangs  a  partner  in  this 
concern?" 

Gertrude  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"Splendid!"  she  cried.  "Just  what  I  wanted  you 
to  do.  I  thought  of  it,  but  I  said  nothing  because 
I  wanted  you  to  say  it  first.  It  will  be  just  the  right 
thing." 

"Ye-es,  so  it  seemed  to  me.  All  that's  good  here 
in  this  store  is  due  to  Nathaniel.  He's  made  a  real, 
live  business  out  of  a  remains  that  was  about  ready 
for  the  undertaker.  I  ought  to  give  him  the  whole 
craft,  but — but  I  hate  to." 

"You  could.  You  could  sell  out  to  him  and  still 
have  sufficient  income  to  live  upon  in  comfort  here 
in  Trumet.  You  might  sell  out,  retire,  and  be  a 
gentleman  of  leisure,  one  of  the  town's  rich  men. 
You  could  do  that  perfectly  well." 

Daniel  grunted  in  disgust. 

"Don't  talk  that  way,"  he  repeated.  "I've  had 
enough  gentleman  of  leisure  foolishness  to  iast  me 
through.  What  do  you  think  I  am;  a  second-hand 
copy  of  Cousin  Percy,  without  the  gilt  edges?  7 
might  be  kissin'  Zuba  by  mistake  if  I  did  that." 

The  story  of  that  eventful  evening  and  the  "mis 
take"  had  been  told  him  by  his  daughter  since  the 
return  home.  Gertrude  smiled. 

359 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  guess  not,"  she  declared.  "You  are  not  in  the 
habit  of  'dining  out' — in  Trumet,  at  any  rate.  Have 
you  told  Mother?" 

"Yes,  I  told  her.  I  don't  think  she  was  much  sur 
prised.  She'd  guessed  as  much  before,  so  I  gathered 
from  what  she  said." 

"No  doubt;  the  explanation  was  obvious  enough. 
Well,  Daddy,  I  did  not  expect  you  would  be  con 
tented  to  retire  and  do  nothing.  That  is  not  your 
conception  of  happiness.  But,  if  you  do  take  Mr. 
Bangs  into  partnership,  let  him  manage  the  entire 
business.  You  can  be  in  the  store  as  much  as  you 
wish,  and  be  interested  in  it,  so  long  as  you  don't 
interfere.  And  you  and  Mother  can  be  together 
and  take  little  trips  together  once  in  a  while.  You 
mustn't  stay  in  Trumet  all  the  time;  if  you  do  you 
will  grow  discontented  again." 

"No,  no,  I  shan't.  Serena  may,  perhaps,  but  I 
shan't." 

"Yes,  you  will.  You  both  have  seen  a  little  of 
outside  life  now,  and  it  isn't  all  bad,  though  you 
may  think  so  just  at  this  time.  You  mustn't  settle 
down  and  grow  narrow  like  some  of  the  people  here 
in  Trumet — Abigail  Mayo,  for  instance." 

"Humph !  I'd  have  to  swallow  a  self-windin'  talk- 
in'  machine  before  I  could  get  to  be  like  Abigail 
Mayo.»  But  you  may  be  right,  Gertie;  perhaps  you 
are.  See  here,  though,  how  about  you,  yourself? 
You've  seen  a  heap  more  of  what  you  call  outside 
life  than  your  ma  and  I  have.  How  are  you  goin' 
to  keep  contented  here  in  Trumet?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  contented.  Don't  worry  about 
me." 

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CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"But  I  do  worry,  and  your  mother  is  beginnin'  to 
worry,  too.  There's  somethin'  troublin'  you;  both 
of  us  see  that  plain  enough.  See  here,  Gertie,  you 
ain't — you  ain't  feelin'  bad  about — about  leavin' 
that  Cousin  Percy,  are  you?" 

The  young  lady's  cheeks  reddened,  but  with  indig 
nation,  not  embarrassment. 

"Daddy!"  she  protested  sharply.  "Daddy,  how 
can  you!  Cousin  Percy!" 

"Well,  you  know- — " 

"I  hate  him.  I've  told  you  so.  Or  I  should,  if 
he  was  worth  hating;  as  it  is  I  despise  him  thor 
oughly." 

"That's  good!  That's  one  load  off  my  mind. 
But,  you  see,  Gertie — well,  when  your  mother  and 
I  first  told  you  we'd  made  up  our  minds  to  come  back 
here,  you — you  stood  up  for  him,  and  said  he  was 
aristocratic  and — and  I  don't  know  what  all.  That's 
what  you  said;  and  'twas  after  the  Zuba  business, 
too." 

Gertrude  regarded  him  wonderingly.  "Said!" 
she  repeated.  "I  said  and  did  all  sorts  of  things. 
Daddy — Daddy,  dear,  is  it  possible  you  don't  under 
stand  yet  that  it  was  all  make-believe?" 

"All  make-believe?  What;  your  likin'  Cousin 
Percy?" 

"Yes,  that  and  Mr.  Holway  and  everything  else — 
the  whole  of  it.  Haven't  you  guessed  it  yet?  It  was 
all  a  sham;  don't  you  see?  When  I  came  back 
from  college  and  found  out  exactly  how  things  were 
going,  I  realized  at  once  that  something  must  be 
done.  You  were  miserable  and  neglected,  and 
Mother  was  under  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Black  and 

361 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

that  empty-headed,  ridiculous  Chapter  and  would-be 
society  crowd  of  hers.  I  tried  at  first  to  reason  with 
her,  but  that  was  useless.  She  was  too  far  gone  for 
reason.  So  I  thought  and  thought  until  I  had  a  plan. 
I  believed  if  I  could  show  her,  by  my  own  example, 
how  silly  and  ridiculous  the  kind  of  people  she 
associated  with  were,  if  I  pretended  to  be  as 
bad  as  the  worst  of  them,  she  would  begin  by  seeing 
how  ridiculous  /  was,  and  be  frightened  into  realiz- 
ing  her  own  position.  At  any  rate,  she  would  be 
forced  into  giving  it  all  up  to  save  me.  Of  course 
I  didn't  expect  her  to  be  taken  ill.  When  that  hap 
pened  I  was  so  conscience-stricken.  I  thought  I 
never  should  forgive  myself.  But  it  has  turned  out 
so  well,  that  even  that  is " 

"Gertie!  Gertie  Dott!  stop  where  you  are.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  all  your — your  advancin' 
and  dancin'  and  bridgin'  and  tea-in'  and  Chapterin' 
was  just " 

"Just  make-believe,  that's  all.  I  hated  it  as  much 
as  you  did;  as  much  as  Mother  does  now." 

"My  soul!  but — but  it  can't  be!  Cousin 
Percy " 

"Oh,  do  forget  Cousin  Percy!  I  was  sure  he  was 
exactly  what  he  was  and  that  he  was  using  you  and 
Mother  as  conveniences  for  providing  him  with  a 
home  and  luxuries  which  he  was  too  worthless  to 
work  for.  I  was  sure  of  it,  morally  sure,  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  find  out.  So  I  cultivated  him,  and 
I  cultivated  his  particular  friends,  and  I  did  find  out. 
I  pretended  to  like  him — . — " 

"Hold  on!  for  mercy  sakes,  hold  on!  You  pre 
tended,  but — but  he  didn't.  If  ever  a  feller  was 

362 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

gone  on  a  young  woman  he  was,  towards  the  last  of 
it.  Why,  he " 

"Hush !  hush !  Don't  speak  of  it.  It  makes  me 
disgusted  with  myself  even  to  think  of  him.  If  he 
was — was  as  you  say,  it  is  all  the  better.  It  serves 
him  right.  And  I  think  that  it  was  with  my — with 
your  money,  Daddy,  much  more  than  your  daugh 
ter,  he  was  infatuated.  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
telling  him  my  opinion  of  him  and  his  conduct  before 
he  left." 

"Ho!  you  did,  hey?  Humph!  I  wish  I  might 
have  heard  it.  But,  Gertie,"  his  incredulity  not  en 
tirely  crushed,  "it  wasn't  all  make-believe;  all  of  it 
couldn't  have  been.  Even  Zuba,  she  got  the  ad- 
vancin'  craziness.  She  joined  a — a  'Band,'  or  some- 
thin'." 

"No,  she  didn't.  She  pretended  to,  but  she  didn't. 
There  wasn't  any  such  'Band.'  She  was  helping  me 
to  cure  Mother,  that's  all.  It  was  all  part  of  the 
plan.  Her  husband  understands  now,  although," 
with  a  laugh,  "he  didn't  when  he  first  came." 

Daniel  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well!  and  I— and 
j » 

"I  treated  you  dreadfully,  didn't  I?  Scolded 
you,  and  told  you  to  go  away,  and — and  everything. 
I  couldn't  tell  you  the  truth,  because  you  cannot  keep 
a  secret,  but  I  was  sorry,  so  sorry  for  you,  even  when 
you  were  most  provoking.  You  would  interfere, 
you  know.  Two  or  three  times  you  almost  spoiled 
it  all." 

"Did  I  ?  I  shouldn't  wonder.  And — and  to  think 
I  never  suspicioned  a  bit  of  it!" 

363 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"I  don't  see  why  you  didn't.  It  was  so  plain. 
I'm  sure  Mother  suspects — now." 

"Probably  she  does.  If  I  wasn't  what  I've  called 
myself  so  much  lately,  an  old  fool,  I'd  have  sus 
pected,  too.  I  am  an  old  fool." 

"No,  you're  not.  You  are  you,  and  that  is  why 
I  love  you — why,  everyone  who  knows  you  loves 
you.  I  wouldn't  have  you  changed  one  iota.  You 
are  the  dearest,  best  father  in  the  world.  And  you 
are  going  to  be  happy  now,  aren't  you?" 

"I — I  don't  know.  I  ought  to  be,  I  suppose. 
I  guess  I  shall  be — if  I  ever  get  over  thinkin'  what 
a  foolhead  I  was.  So  Zuba  was  part  of  it  all,  hey? 
And  John,  too?  He  was  in  it,  I  presume 
likely." 

Gertrude's  expression  changed;  so  did  her  tone. 

"We  won't  talk  about  John,  Daddy,"  she  said. 
"Please  don't." 

"Why  not?  I  want  to  talk  about  him.  In  a  way 
— yes,  sir!  in  a  way  I  ain't  sure  that — that  I  didn't 
have  a  hand  in  spoilin'  that,  too.  Considerin'  what 
you've  just  told  me,  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  I  did." 

His  daughter  had  risen  to  go.  Now  she  turned 
back. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.  "What  do  you 
mean?  Spoiling — what?" 

"Why — why,  you  and  John,  you  know.  What? 
ever  happened  between  you  and  him  happened  that 
night  when  he  come  to  Scarford.  And  he  wouldn't 
have  come — not  then — if  I  hadn't  written  for  him." 

Gertrude  was  speechless.     Her  father  went  on. 

"Long's  we're  confessin',"  he  said,  "we  might  as 
well  make  a  clean  iob  of  it.  I  wrote  him,  all  on 

364 


CAFN   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

my  own  hook.  You  see,  Gertie,  'twas  on  your 
account  mainly.  I  was  gettin'  pretty  desperate 
about  you.  Instead  of  straightenin'  out  your  ma's 
course  you  were  followin'  in  her  wake,  runnin'  ahead 
of  her,  if  anything.  It  looked  as  if  you'd  have  her 
hull  down  and  out  of  the  nice,  if  you  kept  on.  / 
couldn't  hold  you  back,  and,  bein'  desperate,  as  I 
say,  I  wrote  John  to  come  and  see  if  he  could. 
And  I  told  him  to  come  quick.  .  .  .  Hey?  What 
did  you  say?" 

The  young  lady  had  said  nothing;  she  had  been 
listening,  however,  and  now  she  seemed  to  have 
found  an  answer  to  a  puzzle. 

"So  that  was  why  he  came?"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  if  thinking  aloud.  "That  was  why.  But — 
but  without  a  word  to  me." 

"Oh,  I  'specially  wrote  him  not  to  tell  you  he  was 
comin'.  I  didn't  want  you  to  know.  I  wanted  to 
have  a  talk  with  him  first  and  tell  him  just  how 
matters  stood.  After  you'd  gone  to  Chapter  meet- 
in'  that  night — I  always  thought  'twas  queer,  your 
bein'  so  determined  to  go,  but  I  see  why  now;  'twas 
part  of  your  plan,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course.     Go  on." 

"Well,  I  judge  John  thought  'twas  funny,  too — 
but  never  mind.  After  you'd  gone,  he  and  I  had 
our  talk.  I  told  him  everything.  He  was  kind  of 
troubled;  I  could  see  that;  but  he  stood  up  for  you 
through  thick  and  thin.  He  only  laughed  when  I 
told  him — told  him  some  things,  those  that  worried 
me  most." 

Gertrude  noticed  his  hesitation. 

"What  were  those  things?"  she  asked. 

365 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  nothin'.  They  seem  so  foolish  now;  but  at 
that  time " 

"Daddy,  did  you  tell  him  of  my — my  supposed 
friendship  for  Mr.  Hungerford?" 

Daniel  reluctantly  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  admitted. 
"I  told  him  some.  Maybe  I  told  him  more  than 
was  absolutely  true.  Perhaps  I  exaggerated  a  little. 
But  he  was  so  stubborn  in  not  believin',  that  .  .  . 
Hey?  By  Godfreys !"  as  the  thought  struck  him  for 
the  first  time,  "that  wasn't  what  ailed  John,  was 
it?  He  wasn't  jealous  of  that  consarned  Percy?" 

Gertrude  did  not  answer. 

"It  couldn't  be,"  continued  Daniel.  "He's  got 
more  sense  than  that.  Besides,  you  told  him,  when 
you  and  he  were  alone  together,  why  you  was  actin' 
so,  didn't  you?  Or  did  he  know  it  beforehand?  I 
presume  likely  he  did.  Your  mother  and  I  seem  to 
have  been  the  only  animals  left  outside  the  show 
tent." 

Again  there  was  no  answer.  When  the  young 
lady  spoke  it  was  to  ask  another  question. 

"Daddy,"  she  said,  not  looking  at  him,  but  fold 
ing  and  unfolding  a  bit  of  paper  on  the  counter, 
"are  you  sure  you  mailed  that  letter  I  gave  you  the 
morning  after — after  he  went  away?" 

"What?  That  letter  to  John  that  you  gave  me 
to  mail?  I'm  sure  as  I  can  be  of  anything.  I  put 
it  right  in  amongst  the  bills  and  checks  I  had  ready, 
and  when  the  postman  came  I  gave  'em  all  to  him 
with  my  own  hands.  Yes,  it  was  mailed  all  right." 

"And  no  letters — letters  for  me — came  after 
wards,  which  I  didn't  receive?  You  didn't  put  one 
in  your  pocket  and  forget  it?" 

366 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"No.  I'm  sure  of  that.  Why,  your  mother's 
cleaned  out  all  my  pockets  a  dozen  times  since.  She 
says  I  use  my  clothes  for  wastebaskets,  and  she  has 
to  empty  'em  pretty  nigh  as  often.  No,  I  didn't 
forget  any  letter  for  you,  Gertie.  But  why?  What 
made  you  think  I  might  have?" 

"Oh,  nothing;  nothing,  Daddy.  Then,  throwing 
down  the  bit  of  paper  and  moving  toward  the  door, 
"I  must  go  in  and  see  Mother.  I  have  scarcely  seen 
her  all  the  morning." 

"But  hold  on,  Gertie  !  Don't  go.  I  haven't  found 

out  what Stop !  Gertie,  look  at  me  I  Why 

don't  you  look  at  me?" 

She  would  not  look  and  she  would  not  stop.  The 
door  closed  behind  her.  Captain  Dan  threw  himself 
back  in  the  chair.  When  Mr.  Bangs,  returning  from 
his  trip  after  orders,  entered  the  store  he  found  his 
employer  just  where  he  had  left  him.  Now,  how 
ever,  the  expression  of  high,  good  humor  was  no 
longer  upon  the  captain's  face. 

"Well,  Cap'n,"  hailed  Nathaniel  cheerfully.  "Still 
on  deck,  I  see.  What  are  you  doing;  exercising  your 
mind?" 

"Humph!  What  little  mind  I've  got  has  been 
exercised  too  blessed  much.  It  needs  rest  more'n 
anything,  but  it  don't  seem  likely  to  get  a  great  deal. 
Nate,  this  world  reminds  me  of  a  worn-out  schooner, 
it's  as  full  of  troubles  as  that  is  full  of  leaks;  and 
you  no  sooner  get  one  patched  up  than  another 
breaks  out  in  a  new  place.  Ah  hum !  .  .  .  What 
you  got  there?  The  mail,  is  it?  Anything  for 
me?" 

There  was  one  letter  bearing  the  captain's  name. 
367 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Nathaniel  handed  it  to  the  owner  of  that  name  and 
the  latter  inspected  the  envelope  and  the  postmark. 

"From  Labe  Ginn,"  he  observed.  "Nobody  else 
in  Scarford  that  I  know  would  spell  Daniel  with  two 
Ts  and  no  'i.'  What's  troublin'  Laban?  Somethin' 
about  the  house,  I  presume  likely." 

He  leisurely  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  letter 
was  a  lengthy  one,  scrawled  upon  a  half  dozen  sheets 
of  cheap  note  paper.  The  handwriting  was  almost 
as  unique  as  the  spelling,  which  is  saying  consider 
able. 

"From  Laban,  is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Bangs  casually. 

"Yup,  it's  from  Labe." 

"There  was  another  from  him,  then.  At  any 
rate  there  was  one  addressed  in  the  same  hen-tracks 
to  Azuba.  I  met  her  as  I  was  coming  out  of  the 
post-office  and  gave  it  to  her;  she  was  on  her  way 
to  the  grocery  store,  she  said." 

Daniel  nodded,  but  made  no  comment.  He  was 
doing  his  best  to  decipher  Mr.  Ginn's  hieroglyphics. 
Occasionally  he  chuckled. 

Laban  began  by  saying  that  he  expected  his  term 
as  caretaker  of  the  Scarford  property  to  be  of  short 
duration.  He  had  dropped  in  at  the  real  estate 
office  and  had  there  been  told  that  arrangements  for 
the  leasing  of  the  mansion,  furniture,  and  all,  were 
practically  completed.  The  new  tenant  would  move 
in  within  a  fortnight,  he  was  almost  sure.  Mr. 
Ginn,  personally,  would  be  glad  of  it,  for  it  was 
"lonesomer  than  a  meeting-house  on  a  week  day." 

"I  spend  the  heft  of  my  daytimes  out  in  the  Back 
yard,"  he  wrote.  "I've  lokated  a  bordin  house 
handy  by,  but  the  Grub  thare  is  tuffer  than  the  mug 

368 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

on  a  Whailer  two  year  out.  I  don't  offen  meet  any 
body  I  know,  but  tother  day  I  met  barney  Black. 
He  asked  about  you  and  your  fokes  and  I  told  him. 
He  was  prety  down  on  his  Luck  I  thort  and  acted 
Blue.  His  wife  is  hed  neck  and  heles  in  Chapter 
goins  on.  I  see  her  name  in  the  Newspaper  about 
evry  day. 

"He  said  give  you  his  Regards  and  tell  you  you 
Was  a  dam  lukky  Man." 

Captain  Dan's  chuckle  developed  into  a  hearty 
laugh.  He  sympathized  with  and  understood  the 
feelings  of  B.  Phelps. 

"He  has  sold  his  summer  Plase  at  Trumet,"  the 
letter  went  on.  "Mrs.  Black  don't  want  to  come 
thare  no  more.  He  wuddent  say  why  but  I  shuddent 
wonder  if  it  was  becos  she  ain't  hankering  to  mete 
your  Wife  after  the  way  she  treted  her.  He  has 
sold  the  Plase  to  some  fokes  name  of  Fenholtz.  I 
know  thats  the  rite  name  becos  I  made  him  spel  it  for 
me.  Do  you  know  them?" 

Daniel  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight  and 
struck  his  thigh  a  resounding  slap. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Nathaniel.  "Got  some  good 
news?" 

"You  bet!  Mighty  good!  Some  people  I  knew 
and  liked  in  Scarford  have  bought  the  Black  cottage 
here  in  Trumet.  I  rather  guess  I  am  responsible 
in  a  way;  I  preached  Cape  Cod  to  'em  pretty  steady. 
The  Fenholtzes!  Well,  well!" 

"What  I  realy  wrote  you  for,"  continued  Mr. 
Ginn,  at  the  top  of  page  four,  "was  to  tell  you  that 
I  had  a  feller  come  to  see  me  Yesterday.  It  was 
that  forriner  Hapgood  who  used  to  work  for  you. 

369 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

He  looked  prety  run  to  seed.  He  haddent  get  army 
Job  since  he  left  you,  he  sed,  and  he  was  flat  Broke. 
I  gave  him  a  Square  meel  or  what  they  call  one  at 
the  bordin'  house  and  he  and  me  had  a  long  talk. 
He  told  me  a  lot  of  things  but  manely  all  he  wanted 
to  talk  about  was  that  Swab  of  a  Coussin  of  yours, 
that  Hungerford.  Hapgood  was  down  on  him  like 
a  Gull  on  a  sand  ele.  He  sed  Hungerford  was  a 
mene  sneak  and  had  treted  him  bad.  He  told  me 
a  Lot  about  how  Hungerford  worked  you  fokes 
for  sukkers  and  how  he  helped.  Seems  him  and 
Hungerford  was  old  shipmates  and  chums  and  had 
worked  your  ant  Laviny  the  same  way.  Hunger- 
ford  used  to  pay  him,  but  now  that  he  is  flat  Broke 
and  can't  help  no  more,  he  won't  give  him  a  cent. 
Hapgood  says  if  you  knew  what  he  knows  you'd  be 
intterested.  He  says  Hungerford  pade  him  to  get 
a  hold  of  Tellygrams  and  letters  that  he  thort  you 
had  better  not  see.  He  had  one  Coppy  of  a  telly* 
gram  that  he  says  come  to  him  over  the  Tellyfone 
3  days  after  John  Doane  left  your  house.  I  lent 
him  a  cupple  of  dollars  and  he  gave  me  the  Coppy. 
It  is  from  John  to  Gertie,  but  she  never  got  it 
becos  Hapgood  never  told  her.  I  send  it  in  this 
letter." 

Captain  Dan,  who  had  read  the  latter  part  of  this 
long  paragraph  with  increasing  excitement,  now 
stopped  his  reading  and  began  a  hurried  search  for 
the  "Coppy."  He  found  it,  on  a  separate  sheet.  It 
was  written  in  pencil  in  Hapgood's  neat,  exact  hand 
writing  and  was,  compared  to  Mr.  Ginn's  labored 
scrawl,  very  easy  to  read.  And  this  was  what  the 
captain  read: 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"Miss  GERTRUDE  Dorr, 

No. Blank  Avenue, 

Scarford,  Mass. 

"Why  haven't  you  written?  Did  you  receive  my 
letters  ?  The  firm  are  sending  me  on  urgent  business 
to  San  Francisco.  I  leave  to-night.  If  you  write 
me  there  I  shall  know  all  is  well  and  you  have  not 
changed.  If  not  I  shall  know  the  other  thing.  I 
shall  hope  for  a  letter.  San  Francisco  address  is 


Then  followed  the  address  and  the  signature, 
"John  Doane." 

The  "Coppy"  dropped  in  Daniel's  lap.  He  closed 
his  eyes.  Nate  Bangs,  glancing  at  him,  judged  that 
he  was  falling  asleep,  but  Mr.  Bangs's  usually  acute 
judgment  was,  in  this  instance,  entirely  wrong.  So 
far  from  sleeping,  the  captain  was  just  beginning 
to  wake  up. 

"Why  haven't  you  written?"  That  meant  that 
John  had  never  received  the  letter  which  Gertrude 
wrote,  the  letter  which  she  had  given  him — her 
father — to  post.  Why  had  it  not  been  received? 
It  had  been  posted.  He  gave  it  to  the  carrier  with 
his  own  hands. 

Before  the  captain's  closed  eyes  that  scene  in  the 
library  passed  in  review.  He  was  at  his  desk,  Ger 
trude  entered  and  handed  him  the  letter.  He  com 
mented  upon  its  address  and  placed  it  with  the 
others,  the  envelopes  containing  bills  and  checks, 
upon  the  table.  Then  the  postman  came  and 

No — wait.  The  postman  had  not  come  immedi 
ately.  Serena  had  called  and  he,  Daniel,  had  gone 

37 1 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

up  to  her  room  in  answer  to  the  call.  But  he  had 
come  down  when  the  postman  rang  and  .  .  . 
Wait  again  1  There  had  been  someone  in  the  library 
when  he  was  called  away.  He  dimly  remembered 
.  .  .  What?  .  .  .  Why,  yes!  Cousin  Percy 
had  come  in  and 

Daniel  leaped  to  his  feet.  His  chair  slid  back 
on  its  castors  and  struck  the  safe  behind  him.  Mr. 
Bangs  looked  up. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  he  cried,  in  alarm. 
"Is Where  are  you  going?" 

Captain  Dan  did  not  answer.  He  was  running, 
actually  running,  toward  the  door.  Bareheaded  he 
dashed  across  the  yard.  His  foot  was  on  the  thresh 
old  of  the  back  porch  of  the  house,  when  he  stopped 
short.  For  a  moment  he  stood  still;  then  he  turned 
and  ran  back  to  the  store  again. 

Nathaniel,  who  had  followed  him  to  the  side  en 
trance  of  The  Metropolitan,  met  him  there. 

"For  mercy  sakes,  Cap'n  Dott!"  he  began. 
"Whatsit?" 

Daniel  did  not  answer.  He  pushed  past  his  per 
turbed  manager  and,  rushing  to  the  closet  in  which 
the  telephone  instrument  hung,  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him.  He  jerked  the  receiver  from  the  hook, 
placed  it  at  his  ear,  and  shouted  into  the  trans 
mitter. 

"Hello!  Hello  there,  Central!"  he  bellowed. 
"I  want  a  long  distance  call.  I  want  to  talk  to 
Saunders,  Griffin  and  Company,  Pearl  Street,  Bos 
ton.  .  .  .  Hey?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  want  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Doane.  .  .  .  No,  not  Cone!  Doane — 
Doane — Mr.  John  Doane.  .  .  .  Hey?  .  .  . 

372 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

You'll  call  me?  .  .  .  All  right,  then;  be  as  quick 
as  you  can,  that's  all." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and,  flinging  the  door 
open,  dashed  out  into  the  store  again,  and  began 
pacing  up  and  down. 

Nathaniel  ventured  one  more  question. 

"Of  course  it  ain't  any  of  my  business,  Cap'n 
Dott,"  he  stammered,  "but " 

Daniel  waved  his  hand. 

"Sshh!  shh!"  he  commanded.  "It's  all  right. 
I'll  tell  you  by  and  by.  But  now  I  want  to  think. 
To  think,  by  time!" 

Ten  minutes  later  the  telephone  bell  rang. 

"Hello  1  Here  is  your  Boston  call,"  announced 
Central. 

"All  right!  all  right!  Is  this  Saunders,  Griffin 
and  Company?  .  .  .  Hey?  .  .  .  Is  Mr.  Doane 
there?  .  .  .  What?  I  want  to  know!  Is  that 
you,  John?  .  .  .  This  is  Dott,  speakin'.  .  .  . 
Yes,  Dan  Dott.  .  .  .  No,  no,  of  Trumet,  not 
Scarford.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Here!  you 
let  me  do  the  talkin';  you  listen." 

Captain  Dan  ate  scarcely  any  luncheon  that  day. 
He  seemed  to  have  lost  his  appetite.  This  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  loss  and  his  wife  commented  upon  it,, 

"What  does  ail  you,  Daniel?"  she  asked  anxiously 
"Why  don't  you  eat?" 

"Hey?  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Serena.  Don't  feel 
hungry,  somehow." 

"Well,  it's  the  first  time  you  haven't  been  hungry 
since  you  came  back  to  Trumet.  I  was  beginning  to 
think  Azuba  and  I  couldn't  get  enough  for  you  to 

373 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

eat.  And  now,  all  at  once,  you're  not  hungry.  What 
does  all  you?" 

"Ail  me?    Nothin' ails  me." 

"Don't  you  feel  well?" 

"Never  felt  better  in  my  life.  Don't  believe  I 
ever  felt  quite  so  good." 

"You  act  awfully  queer." 

"Do  I  ?  Don't  you  worry  about  me,  Serena.  My 
appetite'll  be  back  all  right  by  dinner  time.  You 
want  to  lay  in  an  extra  stock  for  dinner.  I'll  prob 
ably  eat  you  out  of  house  and  home  then.  Better 
.figure  on  as  much  as  if  you  was  goin'  to  have  com 
pany.  Ain't  that  so,  Zuba?" 

He  winked  at  the  housekeeper.  His  wife  noticed 
the  wink. 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded.  "There's  some 
thing  going  on  that  I  don't  know  about.  Are  you 
and  Azuba  planning  some  sort  of  surprise?" 

"Surprise!  What  sort  of  surprise  would  Zuba 
and  I  plan?  She's  had  one  surprise  in  the  last  six 
weeks  and  that  ought  to  be  enough.  Laban's  drop- 
pin'  in  unexpected  was  surprise  enough  to  keep  you 
satisfied,  wasn't  it,  Zuba?  I  never  saw  anybody 
more  surprised  than  you  was  that  night  in  the 
kitchen.  Ho!  ho!'" 

Azuba  smiled  grimly.  "A  few  more  surprises 
like  that,"  she  observed,  "and  I'll  be  surprised  to 
death.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  surprises." 

'7  wasn't  talkin'  about  'em,  'twas  Serena  that 
started  it." 

Mrs.  Dott  was  still  suspicious.  She  turned  to  her 
daughter. 

"Gertie,"  she  asked,  "do  you  know  what  your 
374 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

father  is  acting  so  ridiculous  about?  Is  there  a 
secret  between  you  three?" 

Gertrude  had  been  very  quiet  and  grave  during 
the  meal. 

"No,"  she  said.  "There  is  no  secret  that  I  know 
of.  Father  is  happy  because  we  are  back  here  in  his 
beloved  Trumet,  I  suppose." 

"Humph!  Well,  his  happiness  hasn't  interfered 
with  his  appetite  before.  There's  something  else; 
I'm  sure  of  it.  Why,  Gertie!  aren't  you  going  to 
eat,  either?  You're  not  through  luncheon!" 

The  young  lady  had  risen  from  the  table. 

"You've  eaten  scarcely  anything,  Gertie,"  pro 
tested  her  mother.  "I  never  saw  such  people.  Are 
you  so  happy  that  you  can't  eat.  Sit  down." 

Gertrude  did  not  look  happy.  She  did  not  sit 
down.  Instead  she  hastily  declared  that  she  was 
not  hungry,  and  left  the  room. 

Serena  stared  after  her. 

"Was  she  crying,  Daniel?"  she  asked.  "She 
looked  as  if  she  was  just  going  to.  Ever  since  she 
came  in  from  her  walk  she  has  been  so  downcast 
and  sad.  She  won't  talk  and  she  hasn't  smiled  once. 
Daniel,  has  she  said  anything  to  you?  Do  you  know 
what  ails  her?" 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"She  and  I  had  a  little  talk  out  in  the  store,"  he 
admitted.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  was  thinkin* 
about — about ' ' 

"About  John,  do  you  mean?" 

"Maybe  so." 

"Did  she  talk  with  you  about  him?  She  won't 
let  me  mention  his  name.  Daniel,  I  feel  so  bad 

375 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

about  that.  I'm  afraid  I  was  to  blame,  somehow. 
If  we  hadn't  gone  to  Scarford — if  .  .  .  Daniel, 
I'm  going  to  her." 

She  rose.    Her  husband  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Sit  down,  Serena,"  he  urged.     "Sit  down." 

"But,  Daniel,  let  me  go.  I  must  go  to  her.  The 
poor  girl !  Perhaps  I  can  comfort  her,  though  how, 
I  don't  know.  John  Doane!"  with  a  burst  of  in 
dignation.  "If  I  ever  meet  that  young  man  I'll  give 
him  my  opinion  of  his " 

"Sshh!  shh !  Serena  1  You  sit  down  and  finish 
your  luncheon.  Don't  you  worry  about  Gertie.  And 
you  needn't  worry  about  her  appetite  or  mine.  I  tell 
you  what  I'll  do:  If  she  and  I  don't  have  appetite 
enough  for  dinner  to-night — or  breakfast  to-morrow 
mornin',  anyhow — I'll  swallow  that  platter  whole. 
There !  A  sight  like  that  ought  to  be  worth  waitin' 
for.  Cheer  up,  old  lady,  and  possess  your  soul  in 
patience.  This  craft  is  just  gettin'  out  of  the  dol 
drums.  There's  a  fair  wind  and  clear  weather  corn- 
in'  for  the  Dott  frigate,  or  I'm  no  sailor.  You 
just  trust  me  and  wait.  Yes,  and  let  Gertie  alone." 

He  positively  refused  to  explain  what  he  meant 
by  this  optimistic  prophecy,  or  to  permit  his  wife 
to  go  to  their  daughter.  Gertrude  went  out  soon 
afterward — for  another  walk,  she  said — and  Se 
rena  retired  to  her  room  for  the  afternoon  nap  which 
the  doctor  had  prescribed  as  part  of  her  rest  cure. 
For  a  time  she  could  not  sleep,  but  lay  there  wonder 
ing  and  speculating  concerning  her  husband's  strange 
words  and  his  equally  strange  attitude  of  confident 
and  excited  happiness.  What  did  it  mean?  There 
was  some  secret  she  was  sure;  some  good  news  for 

376 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

Gertrude;  there  must  be.  She,  too,  began  to  share 
the  excitement  and  feel  the  confidence.  Daniel  had 
asked  her  to  trust  him,  and  she  did  trust  him.  He, 
and  not  she,  had  been  right  in  judging  Mrs.  Black 
and  Cousin  Percy,  and  Scarford,  and  all  the  rest. 
He  had  been  right  all  through.  She  had  reason  to 
trust  him;  he  was  always  right.  With  this  comfort 
ing  conclusion — one  indication  of  the  mental  revolu 
tion  which  her  Scarford  experience  had  brought 
about — she  ceased  wondering  and  dropped  to  sleep. 

Captain  Dan  and  Azuba  had  a  short  conference 
in  the  kitchen. 

"Understand,  do  you,  Zuba?"  queried  the  cap 
tain.  "A  late  dinner  and  plenty  of  it." 

"I  understand.  Land  sakes!  I  ain't  altogether 
*  numskull  or  a  young-one,  even  if  I  do  have  to  be 
shut  up  in  the  closet  to  make  me  behave." 

"Ho!  ho!  I  expect  you  could  have  knocked  my 
head  off  for  bein'  in  the  way  just  at  that  time." 

"Humph!"  with  a  one-sided  smile,  "I  could  have 
knocked  my  own  off  for  not  listenin'  afore  I  come 
downstairs.  If  I'd  heard  Laban's  voice  I  bet  you 
I  wouldn't  have  come.  All  I  needed  was  a  chance 
to  be  alone  with  him  and  explain  what  Gertie  and 
I  were  up  to." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  have  the  chance.  I 
wouldn't  have  missed  that  show  for  somethin'.  It 
beat  all  my  goin'  to  sea,  that  did.  How  you  did 
holler!" 

He  roared  with  laughter.  Azuba  watched  him 
with  growing  impatience. 

"Got  through  actin'  like  a  Bedlamite?"  she  in 
quired  tartly,  when  he  stopped  for  breath.  "If  you 

377 


CAP'N   DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

have  you  can  clear  out  and  let  me  get  to  my  dish- 
washin1." 

"I'm  through.  Oh,  by  the  way,  what  did  Labe 
say  in  your  letter?  I've  told  you  what  he  wrote  me, 
but  I  forgot  that  he  wrote  you,  too." 

Mrs.  Ginn  looked  troubled.  "I  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  that  man,"  she  declared.  "I  expect  any 
minute  to  get  word  that  he's  been  put  in  the  lock-up. 
If  that  house  of  yours  ain't  rented  or  sold  pretty 
quick,  so  he  can  get  to  sea  again,  he  will  be.  Do 
you  know  what  he's  done  to  that  Hungerford  crit 
ter?" 

"Done  to  himl  What  do  you  mean?  He  hasn't 
seen  him,  has  he?" 

"No,  he  ain't  seen  him,  thank  goodness,  but  Labe 
is  so  wrought  up  over  what  that  Hapgood  thief  told 
him,  about  your  precious  cousin  stealin'  your  tele 
grams  and  so  on,  that  he  and  Hapgood  have  gone 
in  cahoots  to  play  a  trick  on  Mr.  Percy.  Labe  says 
Hapgood  told  him  that  Percy  was  keepin'  company 
now  with  another  woman  there  in  Scarford,  a  young 
woman  with  money,  of  course — he  wouldn't  chase 
any  other  kind.  Well,  Hapgood — he's  a  healthy 
specimen  for  my  husband  to  be  in  with,  he  is — Hap 
good  knows  a  lot  about  Hungerford  and  his  goin's 
on  in  the  past,  and  he's  got  a  lot  of  the  Percy  man's 
old  letters  from  other  girls.  Don't  ask  me  how  he 
got  'em;  stole  'em,  I  suppose,  same  as  he  stole  that 
telegram  from  John.  Anyhow,  Labe  and  Hapgood 
have  sent  those  letters  to  the  present  young  woman's 
pa." 

Daniel  whistled.  "Whew  I"  he  exclaimed.  "That's 
iaterestin'." 

378 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

"Ain't  it,  now'!  Laban  says  the  old  commodore 
— meanin'  the  pa,  I  suppose — is  a  holy  terror  and 
sets  more  store  by  his  daughter  than  he  does  by  his 
hopes  of  salvation,  enough  sight.  Good  reason,  too, 
I  presume  likely;  he's  toler'ble  sure  of  the  daughter. 
Well,  anyhow,  the  letters  are  gone  and  Labe  says 
he's  willin'  to  bet  that  Cousin  Percy'll  be  goin' — out 
of  the  window  and  out  of  Scarford — when  papa 
gets  after  him.  Nice  mess,  ain't  it!" 

Captain  Dan  whistled  again.  "Well,  Zuba,"  he 
observed,  "we  can't  help  it,  as  I  see.  What's  done's 
done  and  chickens  do  come  home  to  roost,  don't 
they?" 

"Humph !  I  wish  my  husband  would  come  home 
and  roost  where  1  can  keep  my  eye  on  him.  He 
says  he's  gettin'  sick  of  bein'  a  land  lubber.  He'll 
be  aboard  some  ship  and  off  again  afore  long,  that's 
some  comfort.  The  only  time  I  know  that  man  is 
safe  is  when  he's  a  thousand  miles  from  dry  land." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

SERENA  and  Daniel  were  together  in  the  par 
lor.  It  was  past  dinner  time,  but  Azuba,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  had  not  gotten  dinner 
ready.  This  was  unusual  for,  if  there  was  one  thing 
upon  which  the  housekeeper  prided  herself,  it  was 
in  being  "prompt  at  meal  times."  She  was  setting 
the  table  now,  however,  and  they  could  hear  her 
rattling  the  knives  and  forks  and  singing,  actually 
singing. 

"Azuba  is  in  good  spirits,  isn't  she,"  observed 
Serena.  "I  haven't  heard  her  sing  before  for  a 
long  time.  I  suppose,  like  the  rest  of  us,  she  has 
been  too  troubled  to  sing." 

Captain  Dan  listened  to  the  singing,  shook  his 
head,  and  remarked  whimsically,  "There's  some 
comfort  to  be  got  out  of  trouble,  then.  Say,  the 
'Sweet  By  and  By'  would  turn  sour  if  it  could  hear 
her  sing  about  it,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Hush,  Daniel,  don't  be  irreverent.  Why  don't 
you  light  the  lamp,  or  let  me  light  it?  It's  getting 
so  dark  I  can  hardly  see  you." 

"Never  mind;  let's  sit  in  the  dark  a  spell.  Gertie 
comin'  down  pretty  soon,  is  she?" 

"Yes.  She's  changing  her  dress,  because  you 
asked  her  to.  Why  did  you  ask  her?  Why  should 
she  dress  up  just  for  you  and  me?" 

"Oh,  just  a  notion  of  mine.  I  like  that  red  dress 
380 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

of  hers,  anyway;  the  one  with  the  fringe  trimmin's 
along  the  upper  rigginV 

"That  dress  isn't  red,  it's  pink." 

"I  don't  care.  I  thought  'twas  about  the  color  of 
my  nose,  and  if  that's  pink  then  I'm  losin'  my  com 
plexion." 

"Daniel!"  with  a  laugh,  "how  you  do  talk  and 
act  to-day !  At  luncheon  you  were  as  queer  as  could 
be  and  now  you're  worse.  I  never  saw  you  so 
fidgety  and  excited.  What  is  going  to  happen  t 
Something,  I  know.  You  wouldn't  tell  me  this  noon; 
will  you  tell  me  now?" 

"Pretty  soon,  Serena;  pretty  soon.  Now  let's 
talk  about  somethin'  interestin' ;  about  ourselves,  for 
instance.  How  do  you  like  bein'  back  here  in  Tru- 
met?  Ain't  gettin'  tired  of  it,  are  you?  The  old 
town  doesn't  seem  stupid;  hey?" 

"No,  indeed!     Don't  speak  that  way,  Daniel." 

"Well,  I  just  mentioned  it,  that's  all.  Soon  as 
you  do  get  tired  and  want  to  see  somethin'  new, 
we'll  take  that  cruise  to  Washin'ton  or  the  Falls  or 
somewheres.  Never  mind  the  price.  Way  I  feel 
now  I'd  go  to  the  moon  if  'twould  please  you.  Say 
the  word  and  I'll  hire  the  balloon  to-morrow — or 
Monday,  anyway;  no  business  done  in  Trumet  on 
Sunday." 

Serena  laughed  again.  "I  shan't  say  it  for  a 
long  while,"  she  declared.  "I  am  having  such  a 
good  time.  The  house  seems  so  snug  and  homey. 
And  all  our  old  friends  and  neighbors  have  been  so 
kind.  They  seemed  so  glad  to  see  u*  when  we  came, 
as  if  they  were  real  friends,  not  the  make-believe 
sort." 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

"Not  the  Annette  kind,  you  mean.  That  particu 
lar  breed  of  cats  is  scarce  on  the  Cape — at  least  I 
hope  it  is." 

"So  do  I.  I  never  want  to  see  her  again.  I  am 
so  glad  they  have  sold  their  cottage  here,  and  that 
the  Fenholtzes  have  bought  it — if  they  have  bought 
it,  as  you  say  you  heard.  You  always  liked  the 
Fenholtzes,  Daniel.  I  did,  too,  or  I  should  if  An 
nette  hadn't  told  me " 

"I  know,  I  know.  Some  day  that  woman  will 
tell  the  truth  by  accident  and  the  Ladies  of  Honor 
crowd'll  be  mournin'  a  leadin'  light  that  went  out 
sudden.  But  never  mind  her.  The  folks  here  have 
been  nice  to  us,  haven't  they?" 

"Indeed  they  have  I  And  so  thoughtful !  Why, 
Sophronia  Smalley  even  came  to  ask  me  if  I  wouldn't 
consider  taking  my  old  place  as  president  of  Trumet 
Chapter.  She  is  president  now,  but  she  declared  she 
would  resign  in  a  minute  in  my  favor." 

For  an  instant  Captain  Dan's  exuberant  spirits 
were  dashed. 

"She  didl"  he  cried.  "Well,  if  that  woman  ain't 
.  .  .  Humph!  Are  you  thinkin'  of  lettin'  her  re 
sign,  Serena?" 

"No." 

"I — I  wouldn't  stand  in  your  way  if  you  did,  you 
know.  I  mustn't  be  selfish.  Trumet  ain't  Scarford, 
and  if  you  want  to " 

"I  don't,  I  don't.  I  may  attend  a  meeting  once 
in  a  while,  later  on,  but  I  never  shall  hold  office 
again.  I  have  had  all  the  'advancement'  I  want." 

"Advancin'  backwards,  some  folks  would  call  what 
you're  doin'  now,  Serena,  I  cal'late.  There!  I've 

382 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

said  'cal'late'  again.  I  haven't  said  it  before  for  a 
long  time.  This  Cape  sand  has  got  into  my  gram 
mar,  I  guess.  I  must  be  careful." 

"You  needn't  be.  Say  'cal'late'  if  you  want  to. 
I  am  not  going  to  fret  you  about  your  grammar  any 
more,  Daniel.  I've  got  over  that,  too.  I'd  rather 
have  you,  just  as  you  are,  than  any  other  man  in 
the  world,  grammar  or  no  grammar." 

"Whew!  Hold  on,  old  lady!  If  you  talk  that 
way  I'll  get  so  puffed  up  I'll  bust  into  smoke  when 

you  touch  me,  like  a  dry  toadstool.  I Hello ! 

what  was  that?  The  train  whistle,  was  it?" 

"Yes.  Here  is  the  night  train  in;  it  is  almost  mail 
time,  and  no  dinner  yet.  What  is  the  matter  with 
Azuba?  I'll  speak  to  her." 

She  was  rising  to  go  to  the  dining-room,  but  her 
husband  detained  her. 

"No,  you  wait;  no,  you  mustn't,"  he  said,  hastily. 
"Sit  right  down,  Serena.  Speakin'  of  dinners,  this 
talk  of  ours  is  like  that  everlastin'  long  meal  that 
you  and  I  went  to  at  Barney  Black's  house  just  after 
we  landed  in  Scarford.  You  remember  it  took  half 
an  hour  to  get  to  anything  solid  in  that  dinner,  don't 
you?  Yes,  well,  I'm  just  gettin'  to  the  meat  of  my 
talk.  And  I  want  Gertie  to  come  in  on  that  course. 
She  is  on  her  way  downstairs  now;  I  hear  her.  Hi  I 
Gertie !  come  in  here,  won't  you !" 

Gertrude  entered  the  room. 

"Where  are  you,  Daddy?"  she  asked. 

"Here  I  am,  over  here  by  the  window." 

"But  why  haven't  you  lighted  the  lamp?  Why 
are  you  sitting  here  in  the  dark?" 

Serena   answered.     "Goodness  knows,"   she  re- 

383 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

plied.  "Your  father  would  insist  on  it.  I  think  he 
is  going  crazy;  he  has  acted  that  way  ever  since 
lunch." 

The  demented  one  chuckled. 

"You  see,  Gertie,"  he  explained,  "  'twas  on  ac 
count  of  my  bashfulness.  Your  mother,  she  wanted 

to  sit  along  with  me  and  hold  hands,  so .  Oh, 

all  right;  all  right.  You  can  show  a  glim  now,  Se 
rena,  if  you  want  to.  I'll  cover  up  my  blushes." 

The  maligned  Mrs.  Dott  announced  that  she  had 
a  good  mind  to  box  his  ears.  "That's  what  I  should 
do  to  a  child,"  she  added,  "and  nobody  could  act 
more  childish  than  you  have  this  afternoon." 

"Second  childhood,  Serena.  Second  childhood 
and  dodderin'  old  age  are  creepin'  over  me  fast. 
There!"  as  the  lamp  blazed  and  the  parlor  was  il 
luminated,  "now  you  can  see  for  yourself.  Do  I 
dodder  much?" 

Even  Gertrude  was  obliged  to  laugh. 

"Daddy!"  she  cried;  "you  silly  thing!  I  believe 
you  are  getting  childish." 

"Am  I  ?  All  right,  I'm  willing  to  be,  at  the  price. 
My!  Gertie,  you  look  awfully  pretty.  Don't  she 
look  'specially  pretty  to  you  to-night,  Serena?" 

Serena  smiled.  "That  gown  was  always  becom 
ing,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it  was;  that's  why  I  wanted  her  to  put 
it  on.  And  she's  fixed  her  hair  the  way  I  like,  too. 
My!  my!  if  some  folks  I  know  could  see  you  now, 
Gertie,  they'd  .  .  .  Ahem !  Well,  never  mind. 
She  looks  as  if  she  was  expectin'  company  and  had 
rigged  up  for  it,  doesn't  she,  Serena?" 

Gertrude  paid  little  attention  to  this  rather 
38* 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

strained  attempt  at  a  joke.  She  merely  smiled  and 
turned  away.  But  her  mother  appeared  to  suspect 
a  hidden  meaning  in  the  words.  She  leaned  for 
ward  and  gazed  at  her  husband. 

"Daniel,"  she  cried,  sharply  and  with  increasing 
excitement;  "Daniel  Dott,  what  are  you " 

The  captain  waved  her  to  silence.  She  would 
have  spoken  in  spite  of  it,  but  his  second  wave  and 
shake  of  the  head  were  so  emphatic  that  she  hesi 
tated.  Before  the  moment  of  hesitation  was  at  an 
end  Captain  Dan  himself  began  to  speak.  He  spoke 
in  a  new  tone  now  and  more  and  more  rapidly. 

"Serena,  don't  interrupt  me,"  he  ordered.  "Ger 
tie,  listen.  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  both  a  story.  Once 
there  was  a  couple  of  married  folks  that  had  a 
daughter.  .  .  .  Hush,  I  tell  you !  Listen,  both 
of  you.  I  ain't  crazy.  If  ever  I  talked  sense  in  my 
life  I'm  talkin'  it  now.  .  .  .  This  couple,  as  I 
say,  had  a  daughter.  This  daughter  was  engaged  to 
be  married.  The  old  folks  moved  away  from  the 
place  they  had  always  lived  and  went  somewhere 
else.  There  they  both  commenced  to  make  fools  of 
themselves.  The  place  was  all  right  enough,  maybe, 
but  they  didn't  belong  in  it.  The  daughter,  she  came 
there  and  she  saw  how  things  were  goin'  and,  says 
she:  Til  fix  'em.  I'll  cure  'em  and  save  'em,  too,  by 
showin'  'em  an  example,  my  example.  I'll ' ' 

Gertrude  broke  in. 

"Daddy,"  she  cried,  with  a  warning  glance  at  her 
mother,  "be  careful.  Don't  be  silly.  What  is  the 


use- 


"Hush!     Hush  and  be  still!     Never  mind  what 
she  did.     All  is,  she  showed  'em  and  she  cured  'em 

385 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

and  she  saved  'em.  But  meanwhile  her  meddlesome 
old  father  had  got  worried,  not  understandin'  what 
was  goin'  on,  and  he  put  his  oar  in.  He  wrote 
for  the  young  chap  she  was  engaged  to  to  come 
down  and  help  cure  her.  The  father  meant  all 
right.  He " 

Again  the  young  lady  interrupted. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "this  is  nonsense,  the  way 
father  is  telling  it.  I  meant  to  tell  you,  myself,  by 
and  by.  I'm  sure  you  have  guessed  it,  anyway, 
but " 

"There's  one  part  she  hasn't  guessed,"  shouted 
Captain  Dan;  "or  that  you  haven't  guessed  either, 
Gertie,  God  bless  you.  /  guessed  it  myself,  this  very 
day,  and  I  guessed  it  because  I  had  a  letter  from 
Labe  Ginn  up  at  Scarford  that  put  me  on  the  right 
track.  Gertie,  that  letter  you  wrote  to  John  wasn't 
mailed;  the  postman  didn't  get  it;  John  himself 
never  got  it." 

"Daddy!     Daddy,  what " 

"Wait!  wait!  How  do  I  know?  you  were  goin' 
to  say.  I  know  because  I  know  who  did  get  it. 
Cousin  Percy  Hungerford — confound  his  miserable, 
worthless  hulk!  He  got  it;  he  stole  it  from  my 
table,  where  it  laid  along  with  my  other  letters,  when 
I  was  out  of  the  room.  And — wait!  that  isn't  all. 
John  did  write  you,  Gertie.  He  wrote  you  two  or 
three  times  and  he  telegraphed  you  once.  And  you 
didn't  get  either  letters  or  telegram  because  that 

Hapgood  butler Oh,  if  I  had  only  known  this 

when  I  chased  him  out  of  the  back  yard !  He'd  have 
gone  over  the  fence  instead  of  through  the  gate — 
he  was  helpin'  our  dear  cousin  and  gettin'  paid  for  it, 

386 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

and  he  stole  'em.  There!  that's  the  truth  and 
.  .  .  My  soul!  I  believe  I've  scared  the  girl 
to  death." 

He  sprang  forward.  Serena,  too,  although  she 
was  almost  as  much  surprised  and  agitated  as  her 
daughter,  hastened  to  the  Batter's  side. 

But  Gertrude,  although  white  and  shaken,  was 
far  from  being  "scared  to  death."  She  was  very 
much  alive. 

"Are  you  sure,  Daddy?"  she  cried.  "Are  you 
sure?  How  do  you  know?" 

"I  know  because  Labe  wrote  that  Hapgood  told 
him.  That's  how  I  know  about  the  telegram.  Ana 
I  know  that's  what  happened  to  your  letter  because 
John  didn't  get  it." 

"How  do  you  know  he  didn't  get  it?  Please, 
Mother,  don't  worry  about  me.  I  am  all  right. 
How  do  you  know  John  didn't  get  my  letter, 
Father?" 

"I  know  because  ...  Is  that  a  wagon  stop- 
pin'  at  our  gate,  Serena?" 

"Never  mind  if  it  is.  Answer  Gertie's  question. 
How  do  you  know?" 

Steps  sounded  on  the  front  porch.  Captain  Dan 
strode  to  the  hall  and  stood  with  one  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  front  door. 

"I  know,"  he  declared  triumphantly,  "because  I 
telephoned  John  this  very  day  and  he  told  me  so. 
And  now,  by  the  everlastin',  he'll  tell  you  so  him 
self!" 

He  flung  the  door  wide. 

"Come  in,  John!"  he  shouted,  in  a  roar  which 
was  heard  even  by  deaf  old  Ebenezer  Simpkins, 

387 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

driver  of  the  depot  wagon,  who  was  just  piloting  his 
ancient  steed  from  the  Dott  gate.  "Come  in,  John !" 
roared  Captain  Dan.  "There  she  is,  in  there,  waitin' 
for  you." 

And  Mr.  Doane  came,  you  may  be  sure. 

Serena  and  Daniel  waited  in  the  dining-room. 
They  were  obliged  to  wait  for  some  time.  The  cap 
tain's  triumphant  exuberance  continued  to  bubble 
over.  He  chuckled  and  laughed  and  crowed  vain- 
gloriously  over  his  success  in  keeping  the  secret  ever 
since  noon. 

"I  was  bound  I  wouldn't  tell,  Serena,"  he  declared. 
"I  was  bound  I  wouldn't.  I  told  John  over  the 
'phone;  I  said:  'I  won't  tell  a  soul  you're  comin', 
John.  We'll  give  'em  one  surprise,  won't  we.'  And, 
hoi  ho!  he  didn't  believe  I  could  keep  it  to  myself; 
he  said  he  didn't.  But  I  did,  L  did — though  I  felt 
all  afternoon  as  if  I  had  a  bombshell  under  my 
jacket." 

Serena  laughed;  she  was  as  pleased  as  he.  "You 
certainly  exploded  it  like  a  bombshell,"  she  declared. 
"I  didn't  know  at  first  but  that  you  really  had  gone 
crazy.  And  poor  Gertie !  you  didn't  prepare  her  at 
all.  You  blurted  it  out  all  at  once.  The  words 
fairly  tumbled  over  each  other.  I  wonder  she  didn't 
faint." 

"She  isn't  the  faintin'  kind.  Serena,  we  never  can 
be  grateful  enough  to  Gertie  for  what  she's  done 
for  us.  And  she  sacrificed  her  own  happiness — or 
thought  she  did — for  you  and  me  and  didn't  whim 
per  or  complain  once." 

"I  know,  Daniel,  I  know.  And  pretty  soon  now 
we  must  give  her  up  to  someone  else.  That's  the 

388 


CAP'N    DAN'S    DAUGHTER 

way  of  the  world,  though.     We'll  have  to  be  brave 
then,  won't  we." 

"So  we  will.  But  I'd  rather  give  her  to  John  than 
any  other  man  on  earth.  The  thought  that  it  was 
all  off  between  them  and  that  she  was  grievin'  over 
it  was  about  the  hardest  thing  of  all." 

"So  it  was.  Well,  now  we  can  be  completely 
happy,  every  one  of  us." 

Azuba  flounced  in  from  the  kitchen.  "Ain't  they 
come  out  of  that  parlor  yet?"  she  demanded.  "I 
can't  keep  roast  chicken  waitin'  forever,  even  for  en 
gaged  folks." 

But  the  "engaged  folks"  themselves  appeared  at 
that  moment.  As  one  of  those  who,  according  to 
Mrs.  Dott,  were  to  be  completely  happy,  Mr.  Doane 
looked  his  part.  Gertrude,  too,  although  her  eyes 
were  wet,  was  smiling. 

John  and  the  Dotts  shook  hands.  Daniel  turned 
to  his  daughter. 

"Well,  Gertie,"  he  asked,  "are  you  ready  to  for 
give  me  for  what  happened  on  account  of  my  sendin' 
that  summons  to  John — that  one  up  in  Scarford^  I 
mean?" 

"I  think  so,  Daddy." 

"I  thought  maybe  you  would  be,  considerin'," 
with  a  wink  at  Mr.  Doane,  "the  answer  you  got  to 
my  telephone  to-day.  But,  see  here,  young  lady,  I 
want  to  ask  you  somethin'  and  I  expect  a  straight 
answer.  Can  I  keep  a  secret,  or  can't  I?" 

"You  can,  Daddy,  dear.  You  kept  this  one  al 
most  seven  hours." 

"Eight!  eight,  by  Godfreys!  'Twas  a  strain,  but 
I  kept  it." 

389 


CAP'N    DAN'S   DAUGHTER 

"You  managed  it  all  beautifully,  Daniel,"  declared 
Serena.  "I  am  proud  of  you." 

"We're  all  proud  of  you,  Captain  Dan,"  said 
John. 

The  captain  smiled  happily. 

"Much  obliged,"  he  said,  "but  I  ain't  the  one  you 
ought  to  be  proud  of.  When  it  comes  to  real  man- 
agin'  I  ain't  knee-high  to  the  ship's  cat  alongside 
of  Gertie  there.  She's  the  one  who  pulled  this  fam 
ily  through.  No  sir-ee !  if  you've  got  any  time  to 
spare  bein'  proud  of  folks,  don't  be  proud  of  Cap'n 
Dan,  but  of  Cap'n  Dan's  daughter.  Sit  down,  all 
hands.  Here  comes  dinner — at  last." 


THE  END 


The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is 
that  of  reading.  Why  not  then 
own  the  books  of  great  novelists 
when  the  price  is  so  small 


C  Of  all  the  amusements  which  can  possibly 
be  imagined  for  a  hard-working  man,  after 
his  daily  toil,  or  in  its  intervals,  there  is 
nothing  like  reading  an  entertaining  book. 
It  calls  for  no  bodily  exertion.  It  transports 
him  into  a  livelier,  and  gayer,  and  more  di 
versified  and  interesting  scene,  and  while  he 
enjoys  himself  there  he  may  forget  the  evils 
of  the  present  moment.  Nay,  it  accompanies 
him  to  his  next  day's  work,  and  gives  him 
something  to  think  of  besides  the  mere 
mechanical  druodqery  of  his  every-day  occu 
pation — something  he  can  enjoy  while  absent, 
and  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  return  to. 

Ask  your  dealer  for  a  list  of  the  titles 
in    Burt's    Popular    Priced    Fiction 


In  buying  the  books  bearing  the 
A.  L.  Burt  Company  imprint 
you  are  assured  of  wholesome,  en 
tertaining  and  instructive  reading 


Brass.    Charles  G.  Norris. 
Bread.     Charles  G.  Norris. 
Breaking  Point,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Bright  Shawl,  The.    Joseph  Hergesheimer. 
Bring  Me  His  Ears.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Broad  Highway,  The.    Jeffery  Farnol. 
Broken  Waters.     Frank  L.  Packard. 
Bronze  Hand,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 
Brood  of  the  Witch  Queen.     Sax  Rohmer. 
Brown  Study,  The.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Bush  Rancher,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 
Buster,  The,    William  Patterson  White. 
Butterfly.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Cabbages  and  Kings.     O.  Henry. 

Callahans  and  the  Murphys.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews.    Harold  Bell  Wright, 

Cape  Cod  Stories.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Eri.    Joseph  C.   Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cardigan.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Carnac's  Folly.    Sir  Gilbert  Parker. 

Case  and  the  Girl,  The.    Randall  Parrish. 

Case  Book  of  Sherlock  Holmes,  The.    A.  Conan  ©oylp, 

Cat's  Eye,  The.     R.  Austin  Freeman. 

Celestial  City  The.     Baroness  Orczy. 

Certain  People  of  Importance.     Kathleen  Norris. 

Cherry  Square.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Child  of  the  North.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Child  of  the  Wild.     Edison  Marshall. 

Club  of  Masks,  The.    Allen  Upward. 

Cinema  Murder,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Clouded  Pearl,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Clue  of  the  New  Pin,  The.    Edgar  Wallace. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  Cosgrpve,  The.     Laurie  Y.  Erskine. 

Comrades  of  Peril.     Randall  Parrish. 

Conflict.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     Booth  Tarkingtoiu 

Constant  Nymph,  The.    Margaret  Kennedy. 

Contraband.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Corsican  Justice.     J.  G.  Sarasin. 

Cottonwood  Gulch.     Clarence    E.  Mulford. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A,    Grace  S.  Richmond. 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT   FICTION 

Cross  Trails.    Harold  Bindloss. 

Crystal  Cup,  The.     Gertrude  Atherton. 

Cup  of  Fury,  The.    Rupert  Hughes. 

Curious  Quest,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Cytherea.    Joseph  Hergesheimer. 

Cy  Whittaker's  Place.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Dan  Barry's  Daughter.    Max  Brand. 

Dancing  Star.     Berta  Ruck. 

Danger.    Ernest  Poole. 

Danger  and  Other  Stories.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Daughter  of  the  House,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Deep  in  the  Hearts  of  Men.    Mary  E.  Waller. 

Dead  Ride  Hard,  The.    Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Deep  Seam,  The.    Jack  Bethea. 

Delight.    Mazo  de  la  Roche,  author  of  "Jalna." 

Depot  Master,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Desert  Healer.    E.  M.  Hull. 

Desire  of  His  Life  and  Other  Stories.    Ethel  M.  Dell 

Destiny.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Devil's  Paw,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Devil  of  Pei-Ling,  The.    Herbert  Asbury. 

Devonshers,  The.    Honore  Willsie  Morrow. 

Diamond  Thieves,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Door  of  Dread,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Door  with  Seven  Locks>  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Doors  of  the  Night    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Dope.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Double  Traitor,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Downey  of  the  Mounted.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Dr.  Nye.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Dream  Detective.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Emily  Climbs.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Emily  of  New  Moon.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Empty  Hands.     Arthur  Stringer. 
Enchanted  Canyon,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 
Enemies  of  Women.    Vicente  Blasco  Ibanez. 
Evil  Shepherd,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Exile  of  the  Lariat,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 
Extricating  Obadiah.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Eyes  of  the  World,  The.    Harold  Beil  Wright. 

Face  Cards.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Faith  of  Our  Fathers.     Dorothy  Walworth  Carman. 

Fair  Harbor.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln, 


THE   BEST   OF  RECENT    FICTION 


Feast  of  the  Lanterns,  The.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Feathers  Left  Around.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Fire  Brain.     Max  Brand. 

Fire  Tongue.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Flaming  Jewel,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Flowing  Gold.     Rex  Beach. 

Forbidden  Door,  The.     Herman  Landon. 

Forbidden  Trail,  The.     Honore  Willsie. 

Four  Horsemen  of  the   Apocalypse,  The.     Vicente   Blasco 

Ibanez. 

Four  Million,  The.     O.  Henry. 
Foursquare.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Four  Stragglers,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 
Fourteenth  Key,  The.     Carolyn  Wells. 
From  Now  On.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Further  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard, 
Furthest  Fury,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Gabriel  Samara,  Peacemaker.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Galusha  the  Magnificent.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Gaspards  of  Pine  Croft.    Ralph  Connor. 

Gift  of  the  Desert.    Randall  Parrish. 

Glitter.     Katharine  Brush. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    James  OKver  Curwood. 

Going  Some.     Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Golden  Beast,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Golden  Ladder,  The.     Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Golden  Road,  The.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Goose  Woman,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

Great  Moment,  The.     Elinor  Glyn. 

Great  Prince  Shan,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Green  Archer,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 

Green  Dolphin,  The.    Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Green  Goddess,  The.     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Green  Timber.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Grey  Face.     Sax  Rohmer. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Gun  Gospel    W.  D.  Hoffman. 

Hairy  Arm,  The.     Edgar  Wallace. 
Hand  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 


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